


The 100th Hunger Games - The Twenty Four Gamers

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, As if the Books/Movies Never Happened, BBS, Derp Crew, Gen, Quarter Quell, Random Picking of Gender then of Tributes, They don't know one another unless from same District, Two People of the Same Gender from each District, YouTubers - Freeform, not canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-08 19:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12260301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: Every 25 years there is a "Quarter Quell", which switches up the rules of the Hunger Games. This year, two tributes of the same gender are picked at the reaping. Two drawings are done, first for male or female, second for the two tributes. And so twenty-four citizens of the districts finds themselves in the Arena to fight to the death.Ryan is a boy from District 3 who is reaped and taken from home to the far-off Capitol. It's up to him and some surprising friends and allies to make it out alive.





	1. Prologue

_10…_

Twenty-four tributes stood in a large circle, surrounding a pit, sinking deeper and deeper into the earth the closer to the center it grew. Platforms all down the sides of the hole held different items, growing more violent and important the further down they got. The inverted cone-like indent leveled off near the bottom, and created a perfectly round fighting ground at what would normally be the ‘point’.

_9…_

Gazes flit between the contestants, some fearful, others desperate, more still a blank mask of nothing. Two keep their eyes locked to the metal plates below their feet, and another stands so stiff they’re all but a statue. 

_8…_

Extending outward to the North and West was miles of dense forest of the wildest variety of plants and trees, some natural, and some not. The different heights of branches created a rise and fall, almost that of waves, the dips and curves in the green near hypnotising to the eye.

_7…_

To all of the South a wide plains of tall grass stretches, plants bent over in the strong breeze. Every so often the flash of red and black can be spotted, the tail end of an animal as it rushes to hide from prying eyes.

_6…_

Beyond the plains are mountains and hill, hazy with clouds and distance. Foothills and tiny mountains lead up to the largest one of the bunch like steps of stairs, growing taller the more they near the center of the collection.

_5…_

Directly West, only a mere thirty feet away is a tall precipice, a cliff leading to something deep enough that it’s impossible to discern from the ring of tributes, no matter how they strain to see. 

_4…_

The eyes of those who created truces and alliances before the games begun meet, silently going over their plan and daring the others to try to break the agreement they’d created. Loners scan the cornucopia laid out before them and the area spreading outward, trying to come to the conclusion to run or risk the bloodbath. 

_3…_

Tributes began to shift uncertainly or shake as the final realization that this game was actually occurring came down mercilessly, a crushing feeling of hopelessness and for some and adrenalin for others.

_2…_

The announcer's voice deepens as the countdown nears it’s end, building up the suspense, daring the tributes to try something rash, which would no doubt result in instant death. 

_1…_

An eerie silence washes over the entire arena. Animals quiet and the wind vanishes, leaving an empty feeling as the entire world holds their breath, knowing what’s to come, waiting. The second passes slowly, agonizingly so.

_Let the 100th Annual Hunger Games… begin._

The siren shatters the stillness like a bullet through glass and all at once it’s a rush, a panic, a scramble as the game begins, and twenty-four people find themselves the victims of the fourth Quarter Quell.


	2. Chapter One:

The day of the reaping, it was pouring rain. Grey clouds coated the sky and a seemingly never ending fogs blanketed the ground, floating in and out of the small houses as if it wanted to surround and suffocate everything it possibly could. The raindrops made the muddy ground come alive, jumping and spraying with the same energy as flames and I watch, nose pressed against the cold glass of the window, as a small squirrel wiggles through a gap in a fence, taking refuge underneath a small rock. I find myself willing for it to run back to the safety of the woods, where it won’t have to worry about drowning in mud.

It doesn’t listen to my whispered urges.

“Ryan?”  
I turn, albeit reluctantly, to the hustle behind me that I’d been trying so hard to ignore. Momma herds me into my parents’ bedroom and after I’ve washed and dressed, sits and brushes my hair for an unnecessarily long time. I can see her in the mirror, lips tight and face pale, focused on nothing but the task at hand.. 

“Momma,” I gently grab her wrist and hold it still. She looks up and I’m struck again how much I resemble her. Brown hair, pale skin, hazel eyes full of fear. “I love you.” 

Her eyes flood with tears and she pulls me into her arms, holding tight and rocking me every so slightly, as if I were a small kid all over again. I hug her just as securely, mumbling softly under my breath in an attempt to sooth her, and perhaps myself.

The opening of the door draws our attention away and I look up to see my two brothers and father in the doorway, watching silently. Jason, five years younger then me, and Simon, two older, fall into our embrace when I reach out my arm for them. My father, ever the businessman, stands stock still and stiff.

Emotionless bastard. 

I hug them both tight, never wanting to let go. Jason trembles in my arm and Simon pulls him closer, tucking him protectively into his side. Our eyes meet and I can see mutual care for the younger in both of us. We three stand, Jason clinging to us both tightly, my head resting on Simon’s shoulder and arms wrapped around them both. My eyes burn and I know I’m about to cry.   
Eventually I untangle myself from my family and rise, slipping out of the room carefully. I grab my coat and the small bag Momma had left for me on the table and step out into the rest of District 3.

The rain had ceased but the ground was riddled with puddles, and I had to step unevenly to avoid them. The other households are beginning to come awake, lights flickering on in windows and faces appearing briefly to look outside before curtains quickly closed. I walk quicker, disliking the look of defeat that already filled everyone’s faces, and don’t stop until I reach the edge of the residential area. From here I can see the business zone, the tall office buildings that never seems to end, one no different from the next. Far in the opposite direction I can see the smoke and steam that rise from the factories, are the farthest borders of the district. Normally people like my father, businessmen and engineers, would be swarming the offices. But the concrete streets are empty, void of any life but myself and that squirrel, who thought it was following me stealthily. 

I crouch, reaching my arm out slowly in order not to startle it.

“Hey,” Gently, I wiggle my fingers. It’s curious, tilting it’s head to study me with it’s cool, black eyes, but it come no closer. Carefully, I reatch into my bag and pull out a small, bite sized dinner roll, carefully shaped into a cube-like figure. I hold it out, a peace offering, and finally the creature pads over. Taking the bread in it’s two front paws it nibbles the food, all the while watching me as if I were to strike at any minutes. I sit, still as a mouse, and when it finishes, it nudges my leg before scampering off between the houses. I rise, a smile ghosting across my lips as I give a small wave at it’s retreating back. 

“Run and be free, little one,” I whisper.

I turn and continue my walk, not stopping until I near the fence which surrounds the entire district. Supposedly it’s electrified 24/7, in order to keep out the predators of the woods, bears and cougars and the such, though I didn't know how well that promise holds up. Either way, I stay a safe distance away and trek through the slightly hilly grass that runs the inside length of the fence. Besides, crossing the boundaries of the district was highly illegal. 

When I was younger my Mother and Simon, would rant of District 3, or our country Panem, and the people who rule it from the far-off Capital. However they only ever did it in the safety of our house, where no cautious ears could overhear them. I learned that saying anything like what they did would only lead to more trouble, so I taught myself not to repeat the things they did, to hold my tongue. Even at home I avoid the trickiest of topics, like the reaping, or the peacekeepers, or the Hunger Games. Jason might repeat what Simon or I said, and what would happen then?

I come across a familiar stump, tucked into the far off corner of the residential area that no one visited. I sit down, placing my items into my lap and use the bag as a table by spreading it across my knees. The food consists of several more dinner rolls and cheese, and a small container of grapes. My eyes widen at the fruit, my favorite thing in the world, and an insane rarity for us to ever be able to get. A sarcastic smile graces my lips.

“Happy Hunger Games,” I mutter with a half laugh. I have no choice but to laugh at it, it’s that or be scared at out of my mind. Besides, the Capitol accent is so ridiculous you really can’t help but make fun of it. 

As I slowly eat, trying to make the food last longer, my mind wanders, to my family, to Jason, to the reaping.

His name is in the reaping twice. You become eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve. That year, your name is entered once. The next year, twice, and so on. When you’re eighteen, the final year of eligibility, your name goes into the pool seven times. That’s true for every citizen in all of Panem. 

However there is a special rule. If you’re poor and starving, you can choose to put your name in more time for a supply of grain and oil for one person. You are allowed to do this for each of your family members. I’ve only done this for two years, as until Simon turned nineteen and lost eligibility for the Hunger Games, he always took out tesserae for the family, and refused to ever let me do so. When I turned seventeen and he no longer could bear the burden of the tesserae, I took over. So my name was entered six times, for my age, and an extra five for the tesserae. All entries are cumulative, so at age eighteen. my name goes into the reaping seventeen times. 

It forms a sort of barrier between those poor and in need of the tesserae and those wealth enough to not need it at all. When he was eighteen, Simon’s name was in the reaping forty-two times. The wealthy kids his age were in seven times. It’s hard not to resent those who have no need for the tesserae. I’ve heard Simon rant about how the tesserae are just another way to cause misery in the districts, How it’s to the capitol's advantage to have us divided. 

I rise, brushing crumbs from my lap as I slowly make my way back to the house. I find my family ready to go, Jason shifting uneasily. He’s as safe as he could possibly get at his age, as I refused to let him take out tesserae, but I can tell he’s not worried about himself. He’s worried about me. Inside I know we are all thinking of what could happen, and I swallow hard, pushing those ‘what if’s’ away. After all, I’m powerless against the reaping. 

I hold out my hand and Jason takes it. I give him a reassuring squeeze and he gives me a small, nervous smile. Momma plants a kiss on my head, holding me tight. I hug her back, then step into Simon’s embrace.

“I love you Ryan,” He mumbles. 

“I love you too, Simon. Stay with Momma and Dad, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

With that I step back, glancing down at Jason, his messy, dark hair and bright eyes.

“Let’s go stand at a boring assembly for an hour,” I smile and he laughs.

“Yeah, let’s.”

The five of us file out into the street, following the crowds heading towards the center of town, a wide courtyard in the midst of the market. As we grow nearer, Momma pulls the both of use into one more hug.

I’m a bit teary when I finally pull away, but blink fast and hold it in for Jason’s sake. We split from the others, walking over to the table where those of age twelve through eighteen have to sign in. Jason is shaking, but allows them to press the small metal stube against his finger. There’s a click and the peacekeeper pulls it away to reveal a tiny spot of blood on his finger, which he presses down on a piece of paper and scans with a small handheld device.   
I hold out my hand to the peacekeeper, watching as Jason makes his way over to the other thirteen year-old boys. I scarcely notice the sting as the needle jabs my finger, nor when my hand is pulled down to meet the paper. I walk over to my roped off section, the square divided into two, males on one side and females on the other, with the oldest near the front, and the younger, like Jason, further back. 

I don’t acknowledge those around me, too wrapped up in my own thoughts. A make-shift stage has been constructed in front of the Justice Building. A podium sits smack dab in the middle of the stage and three glass balls sit on pedestals, one directly in front of the the girls, one in front of the boys, and the third directly to the right of the podium. Past those are three chairs.

Two of the three chairs are filled by the Mayor, a tall, black haired man who’s stiff posture reminds me of my father. Beside him is District 3’s escort, an unnaturally thin woman with bright green hair and and straight, yellowish brown dress which was so long it trailed on the ground behind her. Fake eyelashes a bright glittering gold stuck a good three inches off of her face, and she wore giant, eraser pink shoes. She looked like a half rotten pencil, and on any other occasion, Ryan would've laughed. No one could’ve looked more classically capitol stupid.

In the third and final chair sat a young woman with waist length dark hair and striking blue eyes. She sat, still and calm as could be, but Ryan could see her eyes as active as ever, taking the whole crowd and events around her in. She was well known, the most recent victor from District 3. Natashia Orlov won the 82nd Hunger Games at age 12, one of the youngest victors in years to win. Now, eighteen years later she was thirty years old, and the Mentor of new District 3 tributes.

Natashia won her Hunger Games the day I was born, and I’ve always had at least two Natasha’s in my grade at school, all named after her. 

()As the clock chimes 10 O’clock, the Mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It’s the exact same story every year, and it tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose from the ruins of a place that used to be known as North America. He reads of disasters, storms, droughts, fires, of encroaching seas that ate up so much of the land, and of the brutal war of which little remained. What came was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts that brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated. The thirteenth, obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace, and as our yearly reminder the the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games. 

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one boy and one girl, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.() However, this year, because of the Quarter Quell, the rules are different. I still remember the speech announcing the 100th Hunger Games, the fourth Quarter Quell, clear as day. Apparently it’s nearly word from word of the last one.

_“Ladies and Gentleman. This is the 100th year of the Hunger Games. It was written in the Charter of the Games, that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell. To keep fresh, for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capital.  
“Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now, on this day, the 100th Anniversary of our defeat of the Rebellion, we celebrate the 4th Quarter Quell.   
“In order to prove the accomplishment of 100 years of peace, unlike it’s three formers, two game rules will be put in place for the 100th Anniversary of our Hunger Games.   
“To show the sacrifices cannot always be attained, for the male and female tributes from each district, no volunteers may come forward to take their place.   
“And second, in order to show the disorder and panic of the uprising, two reapings will occur. The first will select a gender, male or female. The other will pick the names of the two tributes, both from the gender pool previously selected.”_

We couldn’t hear another word said, as the applause from the capital was so loud that it drowned out everything else President Snow had to say. It didn’t matter, we’d heard what we needed to. 

This is how the Capitol reminds us just how powerless we are. By taking the children from out districts and forcing them to kill one another while we watch. This is there way of telling us we won’t survive another rebellion. No matter how they phrase it, the real message is clear.

()’Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District 13.’()

Further beyond this, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, as if it were some sort of sporting event that pitted the districts against one another. The victor receives a life of ease back home, and their district is showered with prizes, mostly food.

”This is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” the Mayor finishes, voice desperately fighting to sound happy.

He then pulls out a piece of paper and reads off the names of District 3’s victors. Over the entire hundred year span, we’ve had eleven, only one of which is alive- Natashia. The crowd gives it’s customary applause, and she raises a hand in acknowledgment, then goes back to her solemn calmness. The Mayor then introduces the Escort from the Capitol, Elowen Foren, who rises and raises her arms dramatically.

“Happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever, in your favor.” Her voice is as smooth and dramatic as her motions, and her accent only adds to the ridiculousness of it all. She speaks of ‘what an honor’ it is to be here in District 3 for a bit, then taps the glass ball beside here.

“Draw for male or female, shall we?” She laughs as if sharing a secret with the audience, then reaches in, fingers trapping one of the two slips of paper inside. With careful movements she unfolds it, gasps dramatically, and declares,

“The two tributes from our District 3 shall be...male!”

Cries of relief ripple through the girls, and despite the sinking feeling in my chest, I’m happy for them. I see a little girl, a twelve year old start sobbing in happiness, and I realize how scared she must've been. From her clothes, she didn’t look well off. Had she needed to take out tesserae? All at once I feel sick, thinking of how a child so young would have to do that, put her life on the line so her family didn’t starve. 

When I tune back into the stage, Elowen sweeps across the stage to the boy’s glass ball, and with another dramatic flourish, slips her hand in and begins sifting through papers. At last she takes ahold of one and pulls it out, unfolding it with the same carefulness of the previous. She flashes the crowd another sly look as read in a clear voice.

“Ryan Wartham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ohm's last name I'm using Wartham (War - tham) as no one knows what his actual last name is. There was very little to go on for District 3, so victors and escorts, along with the the way District 3 looks could be made up by me. Anything with () before or after it is something taken word for word, or nearly so from the original Hunger Games book. Ohm's family is not necessarily reminiscent to real life, as siblings were created simply for the sake of the story. 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys, and I hope you enjoyed <3


	3. Chapter Two:

Once, when I was walking home from school in the winter, it was so cold my arms and legs had gone numb. I had to sit under three blankets for a good thirty minutes before I got any feeling back in my limbs.

That’s how I feel now, numb and cold, as if ice is creeping through me, solidifying me in place. The couple of kids around me shift to form a sort of circle, leaving me in clear view as I stand, rooted in spot. I see movement, and it’s Simon, all the way across the square where those non-eligible for the reaping stand. His face is pale and arms hang stiff at his side, but he raises his hand and makes a little gesture towards the stage.

‘Show them you’re strong, Ry’ he mouths, and that triggers something inside of me. The ice shatters and I can move again, so I do, walking as steadily as I can through the crowd of kids, all which part like the red sea. I step out of the roped off area for those eligible into the wide, empty space directly in front of the stage. I have to take a deep breath to compose myself while my back is still to the cameras, all broadcasting the reaping live across Panem.

I hear footsteps and when I look up, a peacekeeper takes ahold of my arm, steering me towards the stage. They must be afraid I’ll run. 

Elowen motions widely for me to approach, and I slowly mount the steps to the stage. It’s so strange, seeing the crowds from up so high. I’m used to being in the center. I’m jarred from those thoughts as Elowen takes a hold on my arm and raises it high into the air.

“Now that was just splendid, wasn’t it? Such a calm tribute! Let’s give a big round of applause for our first District 3 tribute, Ryan!”

They clap, but it’s so stiff and emotionless that you can almost feel the wave of hostility rolling off of them. I almost smile, for it means that they don’t agree with me being reaped. It’s strange, I never got the impression anyone in District 3 cared for me, except my family.

Far in the back of the crowd I can see Simon, with Jason in his arms. The younger had his head buried in Simon’s shoulder and arms tight around his neck, and even from here I can see he’s shaking. Simon must be trying to get Jason out before he melts down, but the peacekeepers are blocking their way. Of course they won’t let them leave, not until the final name has been called. My Mother and Father are as close to them as they’re able, and Simon is talking to them, trying to calm Momma. My eyes burn again and I briefly look down at the floor. Two shaky breaths. That’s all I allow before I lift my head again and stare the cameras right in the eye. 

There’s a commotion, and I realize that the second name had been called. In my daze I’d missed it. A tallish, dark brown haired male in a white and grey shirt and holding an expression fighting to stay calm is guided up onto the stage by Elowen. She positions herself between us, taking my hand in her free one and lifting our arms into the air. 

“The Tributes of District 3, participants of the 100th Hunger Games, the fourth Quarter Quell, Ryan and Satt!” 

She steps back and motions to the two of us.

“Shake hands!”

Satt. I remember Satt. My age and grade in school, he ended up my partner for two person projects for nearly all of our younger years. Both being the quieter kids, and loners, we’d always end up together, though neither of us particularly minded. He was an artist and experimented, I was a bookworm and a planner. We worked well together, each doing our share of the job. As years passed though, we grew apart, each finding our own friends until neither of us talked anymore. We hadn’t spoken a word in more than two years other than the occasional ‘hi’. 

Now he meets my gaze calmly, and I know we can both see the emotions of fear and sorrow hidden under our skin, suppressed by blanks masks and revealed only in our eyes. Hesitantly, he reaches out his hand and I do the same, shaking hands quickly. He gives me a sad smile right before his fingers slip out of mine and I turn away, a pang of sadness shooting through me. They’ll be twenty-four other tributes, I shouldn’t have to worry about Satt. If I’m lucky, we’ll never even cross paths in the arena. Then again, I’m not the luckiest person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a short chapter, hopefully others will be longer. School is being an annoyance, we have a lot of essays and most of my time is being devoted to that. I'm trying my absolute best not to rip off the original Hunger Game story, through it will grow far more original once characters are introduced.


	4. Chapter Three:

As the last notes of the anthem sound, Satt and I are instantly taken into custody. Not handcuffed or anything like that, but we’re lead through the front doors of the Justice Building by a group of Peacekeepers. I’m taken to a small room and left there, alone. It’s the richest place I’ve ever set foot in, all smooth, thick cloth and polished wood. I sit nervously on one end of the plush couch, feeling out of place and dirty against the luxury, and drum my fingers on my leg as I wait prepare myself for the coming hour. It’s a period of time specified for tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones, and if I didn’t cry on stage, I fear I’ll definitely now. 

My family comes first, Jason bursting into the room and near tackling me in a hug. He sits, a quivering ball of fabric in my lap as Simon takes my free hand in his, holding tightly. Momma sits on my other side and even my father comes to stand in front of me, so we make a little circle. For a minute we wait, wrapped in stillness and silence broken only by the occasional sniffle from Jason or Momma. Yet I know I have to end the spell. We have only two minutes left to talk. 

“Hey, Jay,” I gently whisper, running a hand through Jason’s hair. He looks up at me, eyes red and hands shaking, and I brush my fingers across his face to wipe away the tears. “I love you,” I say even softer, and when he answers his voice trembles so bad you can hardly understand him.

“Do you have to go?”

Momma reaches out and takes the child into her own lap, hugging him tight against her, and that’s answer enough for Jason as he bursts out sobbing. Simon pulls me to my feet and into his embrace, and it gives me a chance to release a sob of my own I’ve been holding in, muffled against his shirt. Simon pulls back a little, holding me at arm's length, sad and forlorn. Like I did with Jason he reaches out and wipes tears I didn’t know were falling from my eyes.

“You can do this, Ryan,” He reassures and I instantly shake my head.

“No I can’t- don’t try to convince me Simon, I don’t have a chance,” I refuse to hold on to false hope and argue in a whisper, not wanting Jason to overhear. Then Simon’s hand are on either side of my face and he’s leaning in close, so I’m forced to look him in the eye.

“Ryan Wartham, you are one of the smartest people I know. Beyond that, you are kind and funny and likeable. You can fight. You can talk a whole country into hanging onto everything you do, every word you say, you’re that good with words. The capitol will fall in love with you Ry, and because of that you can win.”

I stare at him in shock, because I’ve never heard my abilities laid so direct and simply before. Sure I could do that, but not at all to the measure Simon is claiming I can. But I agree, to put him at peace, to put my whole family at peace.

“I’ll try,” I promise, and he pulls away, sorrowful satisfaction and love burning in his expression. 

“I love you little brother,” He gently says, brushing a bit of my hair away from my eyes like he used to do when I was much younger. I give him as much of a smile as I can manage, I’m truly in danger of breaking and sobbing now.

“I love you too Simon.” 

At that moment the door bursts open and peacekeepers stream in, taking ahold of my family’s arms and steering them towards the door. Jason clings to Momma, sobbing once more, and even father is reluctant to go, glancing over his shoulder at me. Three minutes. All we had.

“Don’t let him take out tesserae!” I jump forward and grab Simon’s sleeve as they try to pull him away from me. “No matter what, don’t let Jason do it!”

“I won’t!” he promises, and that’s the last thing I hear him say before the doors slam shut and once more, I’m all alone. I stumble backwards until i’m on the couch again, struggling to hold in my emotions. I tug my knees up to my chest and sit very still, trying not to disrupt the momentary silence and solitude around me that perhaps will never occur again. 

 

No one else comes to visit me, though I’m not surprised, and when I stand up my arms and legs are so stiff from the scrunched up position that I can barely walk. As I’m lead through the Justice hall I scrub at my eyes with my sleeve, wiping away any trace of tears. I won’t let anyone get the satisfaction of knowing I cried.

It’s a short drive from the Justice Building to the train station despite the fact that we drive through the entirety of District 3. I’ve been in a car only once before, when I was six, and my father took me along when he finally got to see the car he’d designed in a physical form. That had been short and rough, driving circles on rocky grass, and yet I would have traded anything for that, for being with my father when he was actually happy and laughing rather than on a smooth, calm drive on my journey to the Capitol.

I’m glad I calmed myself and dried my tears, because the train station is swarming with reporters and camera men, most cameras trained directly on me. I raise my chin a little in defiance and almost smile when I catch a view of myself on a screen and I appear unfazed. Satt is emotionless and silent in step beside me, eyes straight ahead and ignoring everything around him. I’m almost concerned that this event could change the boy I knew as such a happy, humorous child into this, but he turns, almost like he’s sensed my gaze and gives me a small smile and I know he’s alright. 

We’re required to stand side by side for a little, so the camera’s can get their fill, and then we’re herded into the train. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding once the doors shut behind us. God I hate people watching me. I never liked being the center of attention, though everyone always told me I was good with words. I think of what Simon said once more and sadness washes over me so strongly I wince. The train starts moving and I have to grab a chair to hold myself upright, the speed takes my breath away. Satt looks just as startled, and Elowen For laughs happily behind us.

“Ahh, I love trains, don’t you? And this isn’t one of those dumpy one that move items around the districts, this is a full blow capital model! We’ll arrive in less than a day, you know.” I can only stare at her as she blinks innocently her obscenely long and fake eyelashes. “Well, no matter if you don’t, let’s enjoy this all while we can!” She bustles happily, arms dramatically gesturing to everything around her. She looks so ridiculous I have to bit my lip to hide my smile, and when I glance at Satt, he to is barely suppressing a laugh.

()The tribute train is fancier than even the room of the Justice Building. We are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom. The drawers are filled with fine clothes, and Elowen tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour.()

I ditch the stiff, formal pants and plain white shirt I had to wear for the reaping and take a shower. The water gets far warmer than it ever did at home, and I spend probably longer than I ought to have fiddling with the nozzles and changing the temperature just for the hell of it. It was surprisingly entertaining. When I get out I start rummaging through the different drawers in the dressing area, eventually settling on black pants and a grey sweater-like thing made of soft cloth, with a large hood. 

With fifteen minutes until I was needed I roam the halls, poking my head into rooms and opening the hundreds of drawers and cabinets throughout the train cars. Everything is lit up with bright electrical lights inside crystal casings, and the furniture is so expensive looking that I don’t want to touch anything, for fear of dirtying it. 

When Elowen tracks me down for supper, (“I was looking for you for five minutes, where have you been?!”) I follow her through a narrow, shaking hall into a dining room with polished paneled walls. A large dining table takes up a large part of the room, and is covered in dishes that look like they’d break if you breathed on them. Satt leaves his spot leaning against the wall to join us, the two of us sitting across from Elowen, who is looking around with a puzzled expression. 

“Now where’s-” Before she can finish Natashia Orlov walks in, clearly the person whose tardiness Elowen was about to complain about. The slim, dark haired girl sits herself silently beside Elowen. I didn't think much about her however as the food is brought out. 

The supper comes in multiple courses. Steaming, thick soup, rib roast with mashed potatoes and green beans, fruit and cheese, and dark chocolate cake. It’s absurd, the amount of food, and Elown keeps warning us that we should save room- there’s more to come. I can scarcely stop myself from eating too much, but in the end I manage to eat a tiny bit of everything without throwing up. Satt however looks a little nauseous, and I can’t say I blame in, the rich food in making my stomach turn in knots.

()We enter into another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole things live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that, since none of them have to attend reapings themselves.()

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called. A few stand out in my mind. Two older boys who hug one another instead of shaking hands from District 1. A young boy, head held high from District 4. The two girls from District 12, the only district to receive ‘female’ in the first drawing. And perhaps worst of all, two twelve year olds, a blond from District 5 and a brunette from District 7. Both are slim and small, but to their everlasting credit, neither cry or show any signs of weakness when their names are called.

When District 3 is shown, you can’t miss my hesitation to walk towards the stage. However I‘m proud of how composed I look once the cameras are able to zoom in on me. Satt’s distress wasn’t picked up either, and even though I never glance his way and he doesn’t mine, I can feel the tiny amount of pride we have for one another passing from the couch where we sit side by side.

“I’m glad you were both calm during the reaping.” Natashia speaks for the first time since I laid eyes on her at the reaping. her voice is surprisingly sweet, despite how controlled and smooth it is. “Stay that way, and we’ll be able to go whatever direction we want for the Capitol.” Without another word she rises and leaves the compartment, and when I glance his way, Satt looks as baffled as me.


	5. Chapter Four:

“Well!” Elowen declared, hands fling to her hips. “I never. She’s like this every year, boys, it’s no wonder there hasn’t been another victor since she became a mentor.” 

Embarrassment floods through me and Satt tenses like a coil, unnoticed by Elowen as she plows on. 

“Though maybe this year, with two boys such as yourselves...eighteen, good looking enough-” She points her fingers to make a square and tilts her hands, studying us through it. “-maybe this year District 3 has a little chance…” It’s impossible to ignore the doubt in her voice, and the forced tone of hope, and before I realize what’s happened Satt has stormed out of the room, the sliding door slamming roughly into its frame behind him.

Elowen lets out a sound of surprise, her hand covering her lips, then turns to me, shaking her head indignantly. “Uncivilized too, how rude-” I don’t let her finish before I’m on my feet and rushing towards the door in pursuit of Satt. 

I can hear her muttering angrily to herself as I round the corner, following the sound of running footsteps. Navigating the halls is surprisingly easy, and it doesn’t take long before I catch up with my district partner, grabbing hold of his shoulder to stop him. 

He whirls, mouth open and eyes blazing. “Will you-” Satt cuts himself off, expression softening as he recognizes me. “Oh, hey Ryan.” One look at him and I can tell how frustrated he is, how much annoyance is bubbled up inside, and I take a step back, releasing my hold on him. A sudden cold draft rushes between us, and I can faintly hear voices echoing from other train cars.

“I just...I think I need to go lay down,” He confesses. I nod, and without another word he turns and walks off, pace unusually slow and clumsy, though anyone could feel the frustration radiating off of him.

As I head back to my own quarters, I come to the realization that I know exactly what angered him. And I completely agree. In fact, it’s something I’ve been hearing from my family for years. It doesn’t matter to anyone at the capitol who we are, or how we feel, or that we have families at home, they only care about their entertainment, only care if we’re a “good choice” even though we were picked at random to be sent to our death. It’s all a game to the creators, one big reality tv show. The way Elowen talked, as if we weren't even in the room, as if we were specimens to be examined, as if we were pieces of meat was what had set Satt off. By the time I reached my room, I’m furious, and have to take a couple deep breaths to calm myself. 

It’s dark outside, and through the windows I can see streaks of a district passing by. 6 maybe? or 8? I don’t know which one. My mind wanders to home, to my family once more, and I wonder how they’re faring. I wonder if my mother will get any sleep, or if Jason will be awoken by nightmares as he was in the nights leading up to the reaping. I sit on the edge of the bed, running my hand back and forth over the soft covers, fingers causing indents in the smooth surface. The realization of all that had happened, a blur of events and chaos, slowly settles down on me, and suddenly I feel just how tired I am, how exhausting this whole day was. I let myself fall backwards into the bed, sinking much farther into the covers then I had expected. 

If there was ever a time to cry it was now, when no one could see and I could wash away any traces left, yet no tears come. I lay in the dark, staring out through the small gap in the curtains at the blur of trees flying by and the endless deep blue of the sky, until finally I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.

I open my eyes to bright sunlight and the cheery voice of Elowen describing all the reason why I “must get up” and how “There’s simply so much to do!” I try figure out what time it is, but there’s no clocks in the room, so I simply stumble out of bed as ordered. 

I put the grey “hoodie”- as Elowen tells me it’s called- back on since it’s not really dirty, and make my way down the hall towards the dining car. ()We can’t be far from the Capitol now, and once we reach the city, my stylist will dictate my look for the opening ceremonies tonight.() I hope I at least get one with some sense. 

I enter the room to Elowen laughing, a small, dainty glass cup of some sort of red liquid poised perfectly in her hand. Natashia sits beside her and looks as if she absolutely regrets not opposing to the seating arrangement, and Satt, across from Elowen, has his face buried in his hands. 

Natashia catches my raised eyebrow as I make my way over and gives a tiny shake of her head. You don’t want to know. The moment I sit, a mountain of food is placed in front of me, including a glass identical to Elowen’s and a white mug full of some sort steaming, brown drink. 

“It’s called hot chocolate,” Satt informs me, motioning to the mug when I glance up inquiringly. “Try it, it’s good.” Hesitantly I take a sip, the burning liquid scalding my throat and mouth instantly, though I hardly notice. It’s thick and creamy and very chocolatey and probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. Satt laughs quietly and I shoot him a halfhearted glare over the rim of the mug, trying my best not to spill as I drain the rest of the drink. Despite that there’s even more food for breakfast then there was for dinner the previous night, I eat little, sticking mostly to simple food like fruit, bread, and sausage, remembering the nauseous feeling which followed me for hours after dinner. Satt on the other hand seems to have decided to eat as much as possible and I can’t say I blame him. It’s not a bad idea, putting on a couple of pounds before the games begin, yet I can’t force myself to find the will to eat more, so I simply sit quietly, drinking several glasses of the red drink, which Elowen calls ‘cranberry’ juice. It’s actually not half bad. 

I take the time to take in the others at the table. Satt’s pushing blue berries around his plate into some sort of pattern. Elowen is happily chatting away, waving her hand and it’s a wonder she hasn’t spilled any cranberry juice on her brilliantly white dress. Natashia has leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and she’s studying Satt and I. Now that I’ve noticed this I can’t stop glancing over at her ad shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Alright,” She finally says in her quiet voice that somehow silences the entire room. Natashia rises to her feet, hair falling straight down her back. She wears a simple white, short sleeved shirt and navy colored jeans, and looks more as if she were about to go outside then go the the capitol. Despite this, her eyes are all business, and she motions towards the two of us. “Do me a favor and stand up, you two. Over there.”

I obey quickly and Satt follows, the two of us standing silently, almost back to back as she does one quick circle around us, giving us each a solid look over. 

“Well,” She pauses and we turn to face her. She’s surveying us again, expression unreadable and arms crossed in thought. “You both look capable enough, and from what I’ve heard, have the nerve.” She gives Satt a glance and he colors ever so slightly, no doubt remembering his temper flare last night. “With two eighteen year-old males, we’re actually one of the more lucky districts,” she continues, and I know what she means. Most of the career districts had people airing on the younger side, specifically the thirteen year-old from District 4. Unlike normal years, where career districts were always well trained, eighteen year-old volunteers, this time only one of the six career tributes was actually eighteen.

“So, what are we-” Natashia raises her hand to silence Satt, speaking calmly and evenly. 

“In a few minutes we’ll arrive at the capitol, and you will be turned over into the hands of your stylists. Even if you think what they do is the worst idea possible in the of the universe, do not contradict them, try to stop them, or resist them, do you understand?” She held our gazes, first Satt, then mine, and I had to resist the urge to take a step back out of pure intimidation. Her look of expectancy slowly turned impatient, and I hurriedly answered my consent, realizing she wasn’t rhetorical. Satt echoed me and Natashia grants us a satisfied nod before turning and sweeping out of the room with long strides. 

Moments after Natashia left the room plunged into darkness, a sure sign that we’ve entered the tunnels leading up the mountain to the Capitol. After several minutes the train begins to slow, and bright light filters in through the windows. Almost unconsciously Satt and I both run to the windows, peering out curiously. Bright, rainbow colored buildings stretched towards the sky, and chrome cars drifted leisurely down wide, paved streets, arranged in neat rows and gentle curves. People in fluorescent colors and sporadic hair begin to shout and point as they recognize the tribute train. Satt steps away from the window, quickly leaving the car with a disgusted look on his face, no doubt cause by their excitement, however I can’t help but pause, watching the sea of colors and faces in amazement. The Capitol citizens begin to wave and jump as they spot me, and I half heartedly wave my hand at them. They go ballistic, screaming and chanting my name so loud I can hear it through the walls of the train, and the noise grows only louder as the train rolls to a stop.


	6. Chapter Five:

I sit uncomfortably on the freezing metal of the prep table. My legs dangle and I kick them absentmindedly, shivering slightly from both the cold air and the feeling of being exposed. I wore nothing but a pair of shorts, and was starting to feel seriously miss my hoodie. I was instructed to wait by myself in the prep room for my Stylist by my Prep team, who’d for the last two hours scrubbed, washed, and poked at me until my skin felt raw and tingly. Still, I’d followed Natasha's instructions and not one complaint had passed my lips. 

The door swings open and my Prep team walks back in, three woman and a man in absurd outfits and hair, all chattering excitedly. In their wake came a newcomer, a tall male with shockingly pale skin and hair that shimmered like gold. His eyes were a reddish-brown and almost seemed to glow in the reflection of the harsh prep room light. One of the woman on my Prep team introduced him as Rubin, my Stylist. Rubin gave me a small smile in greeting and motioned for the others to take their leave. After a second thought I called ‘thank you!’ after them, even though I wasn’t that grateful at all, but their genuine excitement and joy for my appreciation made me smile. 

“Ryan is it? Okay, good. Stand a minute for me, would you?” Rubin circles me twice, and I watch him curiously as he does. His voice has less of an accent then most members of the Capitol, and he’s less flamboyant as well. His golden hair I now see has streaks of red in it, which somehow makes the crimson in his eyes stand out even more. His skin is spotless and he wears a grey shirt and red jacket, edges trimmed in black cord. Besides this he has black pants, and the outfit is actually pretty normal. His pale skin on closer inspection has hundreds of dips and curves drawn on in white ink, only visible up close. The designs are shockingly complex and it seems never to end, always connecting and splitting off of itself. 

Rubin halts his circling and hands me a bundle of clothes. 

“Here, put these on and we’ll talk a little, yeah?” He gives me a slight bow and steps out of the room. I quickly change (He actually brought the hoodie!) and step out of the prep room in a sitting room. () Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth entirely of glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be almost noon.() The sky is bright and light with a pale blue, not a cloud in sight, though the wind seems to have picked up. Flags and banners flap wildly out across the city. Seemingly trying to jump off of the poles they were confined to. 

Rubin sits at one of the couches and motions me to the other, and I sit across from him, gaze unconsciously drifting out to the city. i’ve never seen anything so different from District 3. District 3 is uniform and grey, everything built simply and down to a science. The Capitol is a collage of colors and lights, weird curved and twisty shapes and asymmetrical streets. It gives me a headache to look at the city for too long, and I instead fix my gaze on Rubin, who sat patiently. 

“Ryan, as you probably know, it is customary to have costumes which reflect the aspect of the District. District 3, obviously, is technology.” I wince inwardly, thinking of a couple previous costumes, blinding silver skin-tight suits or costumes made of nothing by flashing neon lights. 

“I’m aware that in the past, there had been a lacking for...accuracy in District 3’s costumes.” I stare at him curiously now, wondering where he’s getting at. “For example, your District is always represented by crude Sci-fi, rather than actual technology, yes? No doubt none of District 3’s previous Stylists have ever seen a circuit board or the inside of any technology.” There I have to hold in a laugh, though my smile must show for he smile at me in return.

“So, my partner and I have decided to try something new with you and your District partner-”

“Satt,” I inform him automatically, not catching the momentary look of surprise in his eyes. 

“Satt, yes,” He continues. “Your costumes will not be the main event of the show. “ It’s my turn to be surprised now. How was that possible? The costumes were the only thing the Stylists had control over. 

“Not quite,” Rubin grins, speaking as though he heard my thoughts aloud. “We also get to design your chariots.”

Just over two hours later I’m standing side by side with Satt, the two of us in matching simple black shirts and pants. Silver boots and fasteners go along with the clothes, metallic and bright as metal. Satt raises a eyebrow at me and I shrug, trying to crane my neck and see what Rubin and Satt’s Stylist, Aja, are doing. It’s useless and I settle for waiting nervously until the two make their way over.

“Now, when I activate the chariot, it’s going to be bright and startling.” Satt and I exchange glances. “I need you both to stay calm, and not panic or act like anything different than what you expect occurs.”

“But we don’t know what to expect-” Satt began to object, but Aja cut him off smoothly.

“You must act like you know exactly what it going to happen.”

“Why don’t you tell us then?” I suggest, a little agitated. I wiggle my foot around in my boot as she grins widely at me. “What, and ruin the surprise?” The Prep teams and our Stylists are bursting with excitement as Satt and I are lead to the bottom level of the Remake center, which is effectively a giant stable. () Pairs of tributes are loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses, Ours are a gentle grey color, like that of ash, speckled with spots of white. The animals are so well trained, no one needs to guide their reins.() Rubin and Aja help us up onto the chariot and position us so Satt is facing forwards and Me backwards, so our backs are nearly touching. They then hop down and circle the chariot a few times, mumbling to one another.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” I whisper to Satt. He gives a tiny shrug.

“If it starts to blow up, I’ll make sure to drag you with me when I run away,”

“Thanks,” I giggle, and a small smile graces Satt’s lips. “No problem.”

Natashia approaches Aja and Rubin and a few words are spoken before Natashia raises her head and acknowledges us with a nod. Satt gives her a sarcastic wave back and I have to hide another grin. 

()The opening music begins. It’s easy to hear, blasted around the capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts twenty minutes and ends up at City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us to the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin.()

The tributes from District 1 exit the hall in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They’re outfits sparkle in blue, red and clear crystal, clearly made to represent the jewels ruby and sapphire. Not that uncommon, as District 1 is the district which makes luxury items for the Capitol. The crowd goes wild, unsurprisingly. District 1 is always one of the favorites. The chariots move in district order, meaning we’ll be third. District 2 begins to roll out and our chariot begins to move with a jolt. The sudden fast pace of the chariot throws me off balance and my shoulder collides with Satt’s back. He grabs my arm for a moment to steady me, and I let out a mumbled thanks, and bit embarrassed. Aja jogs next to, us, holding up a small remote. When she gestures roughly I reach down and grab it, taking the small fob in my hand. 

“When you get out of the gates, count to five, then press that button, understand?” She instructs and I nod while Satt glances at the remote curiously. 

“Okay, stand up straight, back to back, keep looking straight ahead!” She gives us one final grin and stops running as we veer away towards the doors. The crowd gives it’s typical cheer, which fades into confusion at our normal outfits. I start counting in my head, and nudge Satt’s shoulder with mine in warning right before I press the button, directly on count five. Apparently, Satt was right. The Chariot exploded around us. Light nearly blinded me as I flinched in surprise, watching coils and wires disentangle themselves from the chariot and rise up in the air, writing like snakes and sparkling with brilliant flashes of blue and gold. My boots grow hot and Satt’s hand clamps hard onto my arm as we both let out shouts of surprise. The boots have small, pale blue jets shooting out of the bottom, and the momentum lifts us both several inches into the air. 

I cling to Satt’s other arm and he holds onto mine as we try to maintain out balance. The wires around us are lifting and swirling into thick coils and under our feet the chariot transforms from it’s normal black metal into a circuit board by small mechanical arms. lifting, flipping, and changing panels. Satt and I maintain our balance and maintain it by pressing out backs together rather than clinging to one another childishly, and when the light dims and the crowd is able to see us again, they lose it. I’m more focused on the boots causing me to hover above the ground however, and Satt is pointedly ignoring everyone around us. 

It only takes a couple of minutes to grow used to the hover boots however, and soon I become entranced by the crowds around me. Capitol citizens screaming and throwing things towards the chariots, mostly towards the front four. This isn’t a surprise, as Districts 1, 2, and 4 are careers, constant favorites of the Capitol. However the fact that they were so taken up by us, District 3, was shocking, and honestly, a bit overwhelming. However, I also see that Rubin and Aja have given Satt and I an enormous advantage by capturing the Capitol’s attention through us instantly. Because of their light show, we’ll be talked about, instead of ignored like our previous tributes. 

Sooner than I expected we reach City Circle, where the twelve chariots fan out to fill the loop in front of President Snow’s mansion. As soon as our chariot stops the hover boots cut off and out feet land with a ‘thunk’ on the chariot floor. The music ends with a flourish. 

()The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, give the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. () But it’s clear Satt and I are getting slightly more airtime than the others. The darker it becomes the more difficult it is to take your eyes off of the flickering lights which glow around us. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes however, and the chariots do one final loop around City Circle before they disappear into the Training Center. 

Aja and Rubin greet us, near jumping with happiness, and Satt flashes me a grin, so offsetting from the stubborn frown he’d held during the parade that it surprised me. 

“It’s just the Capitol I dislike- that trick with the lights was amazing,” He whispers to me, and I find myself smiling and nodding in agreement. The smile vanishes when I look around and fully grasp that we’re in the Training Center, the last stop before the games actually begin and I take an unconscious step away from Satt. I need to stop our friendship from fixing itself, from restarting. Because when the time comes, I don’t think I can kill my friend. Without another word I follow Natasha and Rubin into the center, trying my best not to wince at Satt’s hurt gaze on my back.


	7. Chapter Six:

() The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. Each district has an entire floor. You simply step onto an elevator and press the number of your district. Easy enough to remember. 

I’ve ridden the elevator only once in the Justice Building back in District 3, yesterday to say my final goodbyes to my family. But that’s a dark and creaky thing that moves like a snail. The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air. it’s exhilarating and I’m tempted to ask Elowen if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish. ()

()Apparently, Elowen’s duties did not conclude at the station. She and Natasha will be overseeing us right into the arena. In a way, that’s a plus because at least she can be counted on to corral us around to places on time.() Elowen is all dramatic flare and excitement. We’re probably the first team she’s ever chaperoned which has actually made an impression on the Capitol at the opening ceremony. She won’t stop congratulating Aja and Rubin on their “stunning idea”. Elowen also promises to talk to all of the people she know, trying to win us sponsors. 

“Unfortunately I can’t seal and sponsor deals for you, only Natashia is allowed to do that.” She sings, wringing her hands. “It truly is a shame, I could have so much done for you both! But never fear, I’ll get her uncooperative atmosphere out the window if I have to beat it out of her,” She huffs.

()Although lacking in many departments, Elowen has a certain determination I have to admire. 

My quarters are larger than our entire house back home. They are plush, like the train car, but also have so many automatic gadgets that I’m sure I won’t have time to press all the buttons. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on the mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling to smooth my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly.()

The closet is programmable to your tastes, and I’m able to get the hoodie back. Not the same one as before, unfortunately, but as close as I’ll get. I walk around the room poking different buttons and running my hands over different surfaces, like the smooth drapes of the curtains and the glossy wood of the bathroom door. Everything is so...fancy and new, unlike anything I’d ever seen for the first eighteen years of my life. I jump in surprise when Elowen knocks on the door to call me to dinner. She has to knock once more before I actually head to the door to meet her. I’m not hungry.

Rubin, Aja, and Satt are casually talking to one another when I trail Elowen into the dining room. I’m glad for the stylets, as they seem natural and easy with conversation, something needed, especially since Natashia was coming. 

A meal with only Elowen, who would never shut up and Natasha, who never spoke during meals and was clearly driven mad by the constant stream of noise from the woman beside her was bound to be a disaster. 

A silent young woman dressed in a white tunic offers us all tall, thin, crystal glasses of wine. I’ve never had the drink before, my family forbid me from trying alcohol, so I accept the glass. Might as well try the stuff, because when will I ever get a chance again? I take a sip, and am not impressed by the tart, dry liquid. Cranberry juice was much better.

Natashia shows up just barely before the food is served. She looks as neat as ever, but her skin and hair have a certain shine that makes me suspect she had a run through with stylists of her own. Aja and Rubin seem to have a calming effect on the room, and not only does Elowen slow her speech and quiet her dramatic slurs a bit, Natashia actually laughs very quietly every so often when Aja cracks a joke. Glancing at the two I have the suspicion that the two girls are friends. Then it hits me that Aja’s first year as a stylist was the same game Natashia won and I’m not surprised. Natashia even praises the stylists on their job well done. While they make small talk, Satt and I focus on the food. According to Elowen, for this first dinner all tributes from any district get the same meal. () Mushroom soup bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes. The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics like the one who gave us the wine, move wordlessly to and from the table, keeping platters and glasses full. 

Around halfway through the meal I give up trying to force food down and poke at it with my fork. This whole place makes me lose my appetite. A couple minute pass as I drift in and out of my thoughts and paying attention to the small talk across the table when my arm is nudged. I glance over to see Satt holding a roll out towards me. I’m about to decline when I notice it’s one of the square shaped roles from District 3, from home.

“You have to eat something, Ryan,” He gently tries to place the roll in my hand and I jerk away, determined to keep my distance. It pains me to see him look so rejected, but I stick by what I know is true. I can’t get attached to people. 

I try once again to listen to the small talk and push thoughts of my childhood friend away when a girl sets a glass of red liquid in front of me. I recognize it instantly, it’s cranberry juice, and I glance up with surprise.

“Oh- thank you!” She has long, pale brown hair that fell in two french braids down her back, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, standing out like pools of water against her snow pale skin. She shakes her head quickly and hurried from the table, not looking back.

When I turn back the four adults are staring at me with mixed confusion and horror. 

“Don’t be absurd, Ryan, why on earth would you thank an Avox?” Elowen flourishes, aghast. 

“What’s an Avox?” Satt speaks the question on my mind first. 

“Someone who committed a crime. Avox have their tongues cut out so they can’t speak.” Natashia answers in her soft, calm voice. “She’s almost certainly a traitor of some sort. You’re not to speak to one of them unless it’s to give an order.” Her eyes have a slight flare to them that could almost pass as anger in her emotionless expression. And yet I don’t think she’s angry with me. 

“Ah- I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I apologize, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder and try to look for the girl. Elowen’s expression softens into a look of regret.

“You course you didn’t dear, I’m quite sure there’s no Avox in the Districts.” She reaches across the table and I flinch as she pats my hand in what I assume was supposed to be a reassuring matter. I have to resist the urge to tell her not to touch me. Satt and I sit awkwardly for the rest of the meal as the adults strike up conversation once more. 

Afterwards we move into the sitting room because Elowen, and surprisingly enough Natashia want us to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that’s being broadcast. A few of the other pairs make a good impression, though District 3 clearly stands out the most. Our chariot’s transformation is even more impressive from a thri person view, rings of light swirling around Satt and I as if it were almost magic. Elowen and the two stylists let out an involuntary gasp when I press the remote and the initial flare activates. Once again the realization of all that has happened come crashing down and exhaustion washes over me, same as the previous night, and as soon as I can I head back to my quarters. I take one glance back at the group as I round the corner of the hallway towards my room and meet gaze with Satt. I pause, taking in the slight concern and sadness in his eyes before I tear my gaze away and flee down the hallway. 

Once I get in the room the silence washes over me thickly and I flop down on the bed, sinking into the covers. Cold washes over me and I kick off my shoes and hide under the covers. It does nothing to warm me. The moon is bright against the inky sky and after what must be an hour or so I hear voices and footsteps outside in the hall.

“-what about him?” A wisp of a voice, Satt’s, catches my attention and I sit up, letting the covers fall from my shoulders and settle softly around me. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” A girl's voice, Aja I recognized. 

“But-”

“Satt, enough. I said don’t worry about it I’ll take care of him.” I frown, padding across the carpeted floor silently in my bare feet. I press my hands and cheek against the cold door, listening curiously.

“I...If you say so.” Satt’s voice still sounds worried, and I can hear footsteps of which I assume was Aja approaching Satt. 

“Don’t worry about him Satt, really. Really, there are others to be far more concerned with. He’s not worth worry.” Satt mumbles agreement and I can hear footsteps walking away and doors shutting. Slowly I take a few steps back, a sense of confusing and betrayal washing over me. The ‘him’ they were referring to was no doubt me, and what did Aja mean “Don’t worry”? Was Satt worried about me being a threat in the arena? I make my way silently back to my bed and sink into it, staring unseeingly out the window. Why did I feel betrayed? It didn’t matter, I myself even decided that being friends with Satt was a bad idea- we were enemies, and yet sadness rushed through me. I sat, lost in memories of childhood until finally I couldn’t hold my eyes open any more, and feel against the pillows into an uneasy slumber, bathed in the light of the moon, the only thing in the Capitol unchanged from my life in District 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter in one day- I'm on a roll xDDD Glad all of you guys are enjoying the show so much <3


	8. Chapter Seven:

I dream of my family, of my brothers, of District 3. My mind creates of collage of visions, a blend of all I’d seen the previous day in the Capitol and all my memories of home, blurring into a sickly grey and pink and bright blue. It reminds of me of when a girl at my school was bragging about how her family could afford to buy her candy whenever she wished, and just to prove it she’d downed a whole bag of multicolored sweets. A half hour or so later she’d thrown up, her vomit a disgusting swamp of nauseating colors. 

I wake up feeling sick to my stomach and rush to the bathroom. I don’t vomit, thankfully, but I’m a little wobbly when I stand back up. I step out of the bathroom and see pale, pinkish light filtering in through the gap in the curtains. Hesitantly I pull them open to reveal the view of the Capitol, so stunning the night before. Dawn is just breaking the horizon and it seems the entire world is bathed in a soft, pink-gold light. Fog drifts through the streets and clouds darken the sky in splotches, creating an eerie appearance of a city abandoned, yet perfectly preserved. 

I quickly pull the drapes.

I wander over to the closet to find a set of clothes laid out for me, my hoodie among them. Taking them as what I’m supposed to wear, I dress in a pair of simple black pants and a white t-shirt, along with weird, molding shoes that seem to be made of grid-like cloth, and fit to my feet exactly. I throw my hoodie on, and with no instructions for the morning or annoying Capitol ladies banging on my door, I wander down to the dining room, wondering it they’ll be any food. I’m not disappointed. The table itself is empty, however long board has been fitted into a slat in the wall and is filled with more dishes then I can count. An Avox, a raven haired male stands at attention to one side. 

For the first time since I left home I find myself hungry. Maybe it’s that I’ve gone a full day with eating so little, maybe it’s that there’s no one there, but once the Avox nods assent that I can serve myself, I load a plate with sausages, fruit, weird bread cakes covered in sweet glaze, and eggs. I sit at the table, watching the sun’s light change from pink to bright yellow, and it’s surprisingly calm, near silent. It occurs to me that this may be one of the last times I can do anything truly alone. I find myself scanning the room, taking notice of little technical details few would notice. The tiny cameras in the far corners of the room, concealed the carved decorative trim of the ceiling. Multiple little grooves in the wall where more panels like the one holding breakfast food can be slid out and slotted into place. Scuff marks on the floor in two grooves coming outward from the far wall, clearly cleaned but not erased. No doubt the wall slid open, presumably to reveal cleaning supplies used when tributes cleared out. 

Simply to test this theory I leave the food and wander over to the wall, running my fingers and gaze over its surface. My finger catches in a small indent just outside of the predicted width of the closet and a soft click echos around the still room. I take as step back as a section of the wall, about the size of a large closet slide an inch outward, then splits down the middle and folds up, revealing a spacious closet full of cleaning materials and spare bedding. The fact that I was correct makes me smile and I press the release switch again, letting the closet close itself as I walk back to my place at the table. The Avox’s gaze follows me, eyes wide with shock, and I take it no other tribute has located the closet before. I give him a small sheepish, and admittedly a bit shy, shrug before sitting. Maybe thirty seconds after I resume eating I hear footsteps, and glance up to see Satt enter, closely followed by Natashia. 

I’m reminded of the conversation I’d overheard and feel my face heat up. I pointedly keep my gaze on my food, even as Satt takes his normal seat next to me. I don’t realize I’m stabbing at the blueberries so roughly until Natashia smartly comments;

“I’m sure the blueberries never hurt you, Ryan. There is something on your mind.” I glance up in surprise to see her sharp blue eyes trained on me, expression emotionless like usual. 

“No, I’m…” I take a fleeting glance at Satt. “I’m just full.” I scoop up my plate and dump it on the empty section of panel the Avox quickly points to, but just as I’m about to leave Natashia calls me back. 

“You must stay, at least for a little, Ryan. We have to discuss training.” I stop mid stride and do a u-turn, slowly making my way back to the table like a child who’s about to be scolded. Satt’s staring at me with an expression of that of a kicked puppy and all at once I feel rage bubbling up slow inside me. How dare he look like he look betrayed? For the first time I meet his gaze, and doubt begins to cool that anger. He looks so hurt, and in all honesty, I’d been cold to him in my efforts to keep our friendship from rebirthing. Maybe I’d been wrong to try so hard to distance myself from him. It was actually....unlike me to be so disheartened and guilt comes crashing down like a wave. This place is already changing me. The Hunger Games is already changing me and I refuse to let that happen. 

I give Satt a small smile and take my place beside him, turning my body so I’m facing him. 

“Hey, I’m...I’m sorry,” I confess. “I don’t want to like you Satt, because- well you know, but in truth, you’re really hard to dislike, especially when you use puppy dog eyes.” He grins wide at me and I laugh and all at one my chest feels light, as if a curtain of lead was lifted from my shoulders. 

“It’s alright,” He promises, giving me a small pat on the shoulder. “I’m just glad the smile I know is back.” I shyly grin at him and he returns it, then motions across the table with a shrug of his shoulder. Natashia is sitting back in her chair, studying us curiously, and just like always before, I feel intimidated by her gaze. Finally she lets out a small sigh, leaning forward and addressing the both of us.

“Okay, training. You both seem very intelligent and more than worthy of an actual attempt at winning these games then many of the previous years. Don’t start, it’s the honest truth and you know it.” He voices ends sharp, effectively silencing Satt’s response before he can speak. “Now you have two options, and this is entirely up to you. Do you want to be trained together or apart?” 

For a moment I’m confused, but then it clicks. Of course competitors of the districts would want to be trained separately if they had something to hide. A skill, a plan, an ability they didn’t want their partner to know about, to give them an advantage of knowledge in the arena. And yet...I have little I’d want to hide, and nothing which Satt didn’t know about. 

“I don’t care either way,” I speak first, Satt glancing over at me in mild surprise. “Whichever Satt wants.” Natasha's gaze turns to my district partner and he gives a small sigh and a half-apologetic look.

“I...I want us to be trained separately.” Natasha nods, looking completely unsurprised, and I nod in agreement, partially relieved, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s still that nagging that Satt and I cannot afford to create a team. Either way, Natasha nods to Satt and motions towards me. 

“I’ll start with speaking to Ryan. You don’t mind waiting, do you?” Satt shakes his head and gives me a small smile before walking out of the room. I have to contain a small laugh when he snags a muffin from breakfast with over exaggerated ‘stealth’, walking away whistling. I turn to see Natasha has a hint of a smile before it fades to her serious look and she meets my gaze. 

“Ryan. I take it from your response earlier that you don’t have an drastic skill of which you needed to keep hidden.”

“Not really,” I confess. She nods and rises motioning me to follow her over to the large window. I trail after, watching the candy Capitol as she continues to question me.

“Is there any abilities you’d call exceptional?”

“Not that I would call,” I laugh quietly. “But everyone around me tells me I’m great with words. That I can start talking and everyone will listen- that with my actions and words I could cause the whole Capital to fall in love with me. 

I flush as she turns to stare at me, ashamed at how sarcastic my words had sounded. Yet Natashia smiles, as if she expected this. 

“Well, from what I’ve seen Ryan, I’d have to agree.” I stare at her in bewilderment as she continues. “How you waved to the capitol members earlier, how you didn’t break when your name was reaped, how confident and natural you appeared, though may not have felt, at the opening ceremony. You have a talent for getting people to like to, it’s just something about the way you act. And I think that’ll be your best ally in these games.”

She walks back to the table and I trail after, mouth hanging partially open as she instead begins to speak of the training grounds. While I’m there I’m to be social, but not too much, that I should speak to any other tributes I find smart or skilled, though not those seeming too aggressive or violent. 

“Be wary of others trying to deceive. That may be what your strength is Ryan, but a huge fault in the Hunger Games is being too trusting or too kind.” WIth those monies words Natashia sends me off, tugging Satt into the dining room. He glances at me with a mix of curiosity and concern as I pass, and I realize only when I get to my room and look in the mirror how sick I look, as if I’m going to pass out. I force myself to take a deep breath and some of my color returns, and I curl up on the bed once again, thoughts spinning endlessly around my head. 

_What is Satt and Natasha talking about? What will training be like? What will the tributes be like? Oh god, what if I actually like some of them?_ The sick feeling returns in waves and I feel crushed when I think about what's to come. I’ll have to kill people, fellow kids, kids younger than me. they’ll be trying to kill me in return. 

“I can’t do this…” I whisper softly eyes fixed on the blue sky outside the pane of glass separating me from the rst of the Capitol. The door opens softly and I must not’ve heard the initial knock because Aja walks in. I slowly sit up as she approaches, perching on the edge of my bed and watching me. Sympathy fills her pale green eyes and she reaches out softly. I’m about to jerk away when her fingers brush my cheeks and come away wet. 

I’d been crying.

“Ryan,” She says softly, voice gentle and calm, so much like my Mother’s that my chest aches. “I know how difficult this must be for you. And in no way can I ever understand what you’re going through. But you mustn't give up hope, alright? These games will be the most difficult thing in your entire life, that we’re both sure of. But not impossible.” 

She holds my left hand gently between both of hers, resting on her lap, and we sit in silence, a calm quiet that seems to stretch an eternity. My crying fades to nothing and a weird sort of tired peace washes over me. I’m so worn out from all my stress and sadness that it’s beginning to eat away at me. I give Aja a small, grateful smile and she returns one, a gentle and kind grin. 

Aja remains at my side until ten grows close, the hour at which the first training period begins. She herds me around my room, making sure I look acceptable and all traces of my tears are gone.

When I leave the room to head to the elevator she walks with me every step of the way. I find Elowen and Satt waiting at the elevator doors, and nervousness begins to pump through my veins again. I’m fidgeting with my fingers and have to force myself to stop. Aja turns my shoulders so I’m facing her and gives me a smile before she pulls me into an encouraging hug.

“There’s no need to be afraid Ryan.” She whispers softly, so neither of the others can overhear. And surprisingly enough, I actually believe her. 

Aja gives my shoulder one last squeeze, then walks off to the side to take her place beside Rubin. He leans down to whisper to her and she says something back before the two separate again. My attention is drawn away by Elowen throwing her arm around my shoulders and steering me into the elevator, proclaiming how we ‘absolutely cannot be late to such an important affair as is to come’. I glance over my shoulder and Aja gives me a quick wave before the elevator doors shut and Satt, Elowen, and myself are heading down.


	9. Chapter Eight:

()The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. ALthough it’s not yet ten, we’re the last to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle. They each have a cloth square with their district number pinned to their shirts. A women pins the number _3_ to Satt and I.

As soon as we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall athletic women names Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per our mentors instructions. Some of the stations teach survival techniques, other fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hard if we want to spar. 

When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations, my eyes can’t help wandering around to the other tributes. It’s the first time we’ve been assembled, on level ground, in simple clothes.() Several of the boys are much larger than I am, both in height and build, but what makes my chest grow tight is the others. Three of the tributes are so young, twelve or thirteen, standing quiet and too still for children of their age. Forced to grow up far too fast because of these games. I burn with sympathy for them, boil with rage at the Capitol for sending these kids to their sure death. 

The tributes from the wealthier districts are clearly better off than most. They all look well fed, and by no doubt have been trained from a cruelly young age to compete in the Hunger Games. Tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this look about them. It’s technically against the rules to train tributes before they reach the Capitol but it happens every year. Like many of the outer districts, in District 3 we call them the Career Tributes, or just the Careers.() Usually these six would already before trying to form an alliance, but unlike anything I’ve ever seen before the careers are showing no interest in one another- none. It’s bizarre. 

Atala dismisses us to the stations and several of the careers, the two boys from District 2, immediately head over to a station with swords- straight, curved, long short- no doubt having used them before. Out of the other Careers the District 1 boys stay together as well, though 4 splits up. The older of the two starts poking around the trident weapon station while the younger- the thirteen year-old, picks a survival station and starts talking to the trainer there. Fingers brush my shoulder and I jump a little, turning to see Satt, a question in his eyes.

“So...do you want to look at things together, or on our own?” It’s clear he feels a bit intimidated by the other tributes and the training area. I honestly can’t blame him, the same nervousness holding tight to my system. 

“On my own,” I say apologetically, wincing at how I’m pushing him away again. To my surprise he nods in agreement, even looking a tiny bit relieved. No doubt he’s realized why I acted the way I did before, and that mentality has started to befall him as well. Satt turns and heads off in the direction of a station about knots and snares, and I begin to wander around, looking around at stations but seeing none that really caught my eye. People meander, some looking lost and scared, others a mask of nothing.

A tap on my shoulder draws my attention and I turn to see a man, dressed in the black jumpsuit of a trainer.

“You look as if you don’t know where to start,” He doesn’t ask, rather states, and his voice is low and slightly growly, though not unkind. His eyes have a warm sympathy in them, and he turns, motion to his station with a pale hand.

I follow his gaze to the station dedicated to knives, of all kind- throwing, survival, short, long, some that were more swords and knives. “Knives are the only weapon that you can count on to appear 100% in the Games,” He continues, and I realize with a jolt that he’s right. I’ve never seen a single Hunger Games without knives in them. After a moment's hesitation, I follow the man back to the station where he picks up a knife with a solid, black handle and flips it in his hand, holding it out towards me hilt first. I take the weapon in my hand cautiously, studying the blade. It is several inches long, a gleaming silver color, and very slightly curved at the end. Notches in the handle fit my fingers and the knife matches the curve of my hand perfectly. The trainer takes a few steps back and faces me, a few feet away. 

“Try to attack me.” I do a double take, staring at the trainer in shock, and he lets out a small laugh. “Trust me, I’ll be alright.” 

I glare at that, knowing he’s mocking my lack of ability and he laughs again, though his voice is kind. “Come now. Attack me.”

I glance between the knife and him, and then without warning jump forward, bringing the knife down tip first directly towards his throat. His arms fly out and fingers wrap around my wrist, holding my arm in place poised above him, keeping my knife out of range.

“You mildly caught me off guard there,” The trainer observes, studying me curiously. “Most of the tributes from districts like your own would have dropped the knife or refused.”

“I don’t-” My hand trembles and guilt pools in my stomach. My voice is too fast and high with a defensive tone “I didn’t want to-” 

The trainer steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder, gently taking the knife from my tensed fist. “I know. You don’t want to fight anybody?” I nod, watching as he placed the knife back onto its shelf. He leads me over to a small bench and sits down, patting the spot beside him. 

“Now, the idea of attacking someone is nearly impossible. But it won’t be in the arena. You’ll be acting in the heat of the moment, by instinct, and truly there is nothing harder to fight then the unpredictableness of a frightened human.” He speaks slowly, as if weighing every word he said, gaze locked on the gymnasium laid out before us, the tributes, the trainers. 

“It’s a strange year. The Tributes of 1, 2, and 4 are not acting as they normally do. The tributes of District 3 are the most talked about people in the Games.” I start at this, looking over at him surprised. “It seems much is unusual in these games. And so I want to teach you to properly use a knife.”

He begins to stand, and I speak without meaning to, feeling ticked for some unknown reason.

“I can use a knife. A throwing knife.”

“And your aim is good?” The trainer looks completely unsurprised, as if he expected this.

I hesitate a second before nodding. He smiles and motions back towards the station. “Let me teach you hand to hand combat then.”

\------

The first two training days fly by, a blurr of different skills and stations. I do pick up some valuable abilities, such as hand to hand combat with a knife, or the ability to climb. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was scaling the small grove of trees in the far edge of the district. Sometimes I find myself at stations with other tributes, and I begin to notice a couple of their skills.

The two boys from District 1 have clearly been trained to use the bow and arrows and axes respectively, the first being probably the most accurate shooter I’ve ever seen in a Games, and the other being able to fight both hand to hand and throw. The same is for the boys of District 2, both adapt with swords, and the older tribute from District 4 with his ability with a trident.

To say it’s intimidating is an understatement. One of the boys from District 9 sweeps the edible foods test at amazing speed, and one from District 6 ties uses a rope and knots to suspend an entire rack of weights in the air. I kept my distance, partially out of the desire to not know my enemies, but partially out of fear as well. I felt overwhelmed and very inferior to those around me, and so I stayed as far away as I could. 

()The gamemakers appeared early on the first day. Twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes. They sit in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, ignoring the lot of us. Several times I’ve looked up to find one fixated to me. They consult with the trainers during our meals as well. We see them all gathered together when we come back. 

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floors, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself.() Most everyone sits on their own or with a single partner, and there is very little conversation. This is why I’m surprised that at lunch on the third day of training, a group of three meets in the far corner of the room and begins to talk in low voices.

It’s the three youngest tributes in the games, The boy from District 4, Craig, I remember someone calling him, and the two twelve year olds. The first was from District 5 and had blond hair eyeing on the side of golden and pale skin. He was scrawny, though not unhealthily, and stood several inches then Craig, despite being younger. The other boy was from District 7, shorter than the others with pale skin and brown hair. His name was Smitty, or something of the like. 

The three conversed for several minutes until Craig held out his hand. The other two placed their hands on top of his after moments of hesitation, and the first multi-district alliance of the 100th Hunger Games was created. The three youngest tributes. 

“It’s about damn time,” a voice huffed from beside me and I jumped, breath shaking slightly from the adrenalin spike the fright had given me. I turn my head to see the younger of the District 1 tributes, a pale, short boy with blackish-brown hair and grey-blue eyes. He grins and laughs, no doubt having startled me on purpose, then pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. 

All at once his voice is serious, calm, and low, and he watches the alliance with a neutral expression. “They are smart, like I’d hoped. It's really they’re only chance in these Games, grouping together.”

To my surprise I detect remorse and even a touch of sadness in his voice, and he turns his gaze once more to me.

“You look shocked. Didn’t think we had feelings, huh.” His monotone voice sends guilt shooting through me and my stunned expression falls instantly. 

“No, that’s not- I’m sorry-” He raises a hand to stop me and flashes a small smile. 

“It’s all good, I’m used to it at this point.” 

I fall quiet, unsure of what to say or what to do. The male rests his chin in his hands, elbows propped against the table and eyes my untouched food. An awkward silence falls over us until he reaches out and pulls over a basket, the one resting in the center of each lunch table. It’s full of a variety of bread, and I hadn’t payed much mind to it. He dumps the basket on it’s side and the bread spills out across the table, all different shapes and shades of brown and gold.

“Did you know they have bread from every district here?” 

“No, I didn’t,” I reply, a mix of confusion and curiosity washing over me. What was he doing? Easily one of the more skilled people in the games and he randomly started talking to someone like me, about _bread_ no less.

He begins to sort the bread out, pulling loafs of the same likeness together until everything is divided into thirteen even piles.

“The twelve districts and the Capitol,” He explains, pointing to each different bread in turn. “See, that one over there, that’s from District 2.”

He motions to two rectangular rolls of bread, dark brown in color and made out of rough wholemeal. I follow his hand as he gestures to different breads, naming each district as he went. There was a couple loafs of small, fish-shaped rolls tinted a light green from District 4, the fishing district, and crescent shaped rolls made of dark ration grain and sprinkled with nuts from District 11- agriculture. 

“Those there- they’re from District 3.” I reach out my hand past his and point to a small pile of five or so of the small, square shaped rolls. He grins, reaching for another pile.

“I thought so, the shape alone gave it away.” He holds out a domed loaf of bread, larger in the size then the others with three slits cut across the top. It’s simple and perfect at the same time, exactly symmetrical and smooth.

“District 1- mine.” He informs when I take the loaf and glance up to meet his eyes. He waves towards the bread. “Try it.” I must look hesitant for he rolls his eyes and scoops up two of the District 3 rolls, popping one into his mouth. “I’ll eat some of yours too.”

I smile a little and shake my head before taking a bite out of the bread. My eyes instantly widen and he laughs.

“It’s orangey!” I cry In surprise, looking down to see little flecks of orange dispersed throughout the center of the bread. The boy nods, looking rather smug at my reaction. 

“That’s our bread- flavored with oranges. Hey, these aren’t half bad, you know.” He bites the second square roll in half, chewing as he scoops the remainder of the fallen bread back into the basket. I continue to nibble on the orange bread, which is actually very good, watching him curiously. All at once he pauses, turning to stare at me.

“I didn’t tell you my name, did I?” I shake my head and he groans apologetically. “I’m sorry, shit. I’m Jonathan, or Jon.” He holds out his hand and I shake it.

“Ryan.” He nods greeting and opens his mouth to speak. Before he can do so, however, a trainer walks in and signals that lunch is over. I stand and Jonathan does the same, trailing me back into the gymnasium. Sensing that he still wanted to talk, I stepped off to the side with him, though not before his District partner gives me a strange look. 

“Do you know the other tributes?” I ask, not really sure what to talk about. 

“As in friends with them? Not really, no.” he squints his eyes slightly, head cocked in concentration as his eyes sweep the room. “I do know a lot of their names though.” lean against the wall beside him, crossing my arms across my chest and following his hand as he begins to point out different people spread out across the room.


	10. Chapter Nine:

“That tall guy over there, the other District 1 tribute. That’s Luke, he’s my brother.” I whirl to face hm, gasping in surprise. He looks momentarily confused before his eyes widen in realization and he shakes his head. “Not my actual brother- my best friend.”

My heart sinks into my gut as I watch Luke, a cold fear washing over me. Best friends. _Brothers._ If there is one thing certain about the Hunger Games, it’s the most basic rule in the whole system. The victor is the final survivor of the fight to the death. The one victor. _There can be only one._ My throat contracts and I feel heavy with sadness when I realize that Luke and Jon cannot possibly both come out of this alive. Even though I know neither of them I feel unbearable sympathy.

Jonathan’s expression softens and he brushes my arm with his fingertips, tearing my gaze away from Luke and back to him. His eyes are sad when he speaks, but his voice is steady and low.

“I know. We know. One of us will win for the other.” In other words, if one of the two died the other would win to avenge them. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and Jon continues to point out the tributes. 

He motions towards the two District 2 tributes. “The tall one’s name is Tyler, and the other is Evan.”

Tyler is a fucking giant, towering above almost everyone else. He has greyish-brown hair and vibrant blue eyes, and stands with his weight on one leg more than the other, arms crossed across his chest. He looks completely relaxed and deadly serious, and I make a mental note to be wary, especially after I saw his ability with a sword. Next to him, Evan looks incredibly short, with raven hair swept up in a messy fohawk. He’s Asian in skin tone and very built, listening quietly as Tyler says something, gesturing with his hands. 

Jonathan then motions to me. “I know you obviously, and I don’t actually know your partner's name-”

“It’s Satt,” I supply, and he nods satisfaction after a moment's consideration. “Next is District 4. The tall, older one is Brian, and the little brown haired one, that’s Craig.” 

Craig I know, the thirteen year old who formed the alliance at lunch earlier. His district partner is another matter however. His hair is brown like Craig’s, though darker in shade and slightly more greyish in color, resembling the bark of a dark tree. He’s a little taller than average- like most here far taller than me, and form what I glimpsed of him the last two days can through a trident with frightening accuracy. Though that’s not all the surprising for a tribute from District 4.

From District 5 is another one of the alliance kids, the tall blond, and Jonathan informs me his name is Bryce. In contrast to the small boy is his partner, a tall dark skinned male with black hair and a beard that is clearly far older than Bryce. 

“What’s his name? The other District 5.” Glancing over, Jon shakes his head, nose wrinkling slightly in concentration.

“Ah….don’t know.” He shrugs apologetically and points to another pair. “That’s District 6- the dark skinned one is Marcel, and the other one, with the brown hair is Brock.” 

Unlike many of the districts, they two stand together, talking quietly. Every so often one will chuckle or laugh, and from our view across the gymnasium, it seemed like the two were simply talking casually. I stare, surprised at how at ease both appear as they sit across from one another at a tracking survival station talking and occasionally pointing to things around the station.

“You think they know one another? Before the games started I mean.” Jon asks, he too watching the two curiously. I study them for a moment, and while they appear friendly they’re always separated by a small amount of space and their tone of voice, or what I can faintly hear of it, sounds mostly poliet. I shake my head in response, pointing out these details to Jonathan.

“No, I think they only met because of the games, but they get along and might’ve been good friends had this not all happened.” Jon looks impressed and I feel a spark of pride. Reading people was always something I’d been good at.

“I know one of them, the twelve year old- Smitty,” I push the conversation forward, pointing at the two District 7 tributes. “Where’s the other?”

“I don’t know...but his name is Scotty, I know that much.” I finally spot the light brown haired male in the far back og gymnasium, scaling up a series of objects and platforms sticking out of the walls. 

“How-” I stare in amazement at his speed, and Jonathan laughs slightly, his tone awed.

“District 7- Lumber. I’ll bet he climbs trees.”

Scotty grabs a pole with one hand kicks his legs up onto a platform before running forward and launching himself up onto another pole without missing a beat. Jon lets out a low whistle of amazement, then nudges my shoulder several times until I finally turn back to look at him.

“Next is that tall motherfucker over there-” Jonathan points to a tall, deep brown almost black haired male and the shorter, chubbier male a few stations away. “Goes by Daithi or something like that. And that’s his district partner, Anthony.”

I recognize them both as the tributes of District 8, and am surprised to see both of them at survival stations, quiet and focused. from what I’ve seen, District 8 is nothing but an industrial grey- barely a blade of grass in sight. What surprises me more is the smaller male kneeling beside Anthony, listening to his instructions on how to tie a knot. Though i guess it shouldn’t be too surprising- one of District 8’s jobs is being a teacher.

“That’s Lui,” Jonathan says, taking notice of the other male at the same time as me. “Convenient- He’s from District 9 along with that guy over there, Arlen.” 

Lui is a male short in comparison to the giants in the room like Tyler and Luke, but tall compared to me or Jon. He had black-brown hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail, and is fiddling with a rope in his hands. Arlen on the other hand is across the gymnasium, talking to one of the weapon’s trainers. I doubt he’s ever used a weapon in his life. I recognize him however as the male with the funny accent, one I couldn’t place but found fascinating.

“District 10…” Jonathan hummed in concentration, scanning the room. His fingers idally tapped on his cross arms as he waited. “There- over there. That guy at the spear station-”

The words barely leave his mouth when the male stands up, spear in hand, and flings it forward. The spear pierces the dummy directly on target with so much force imbeds itself into the wall with a sickening _’THUD’_ I jump back, arms instinctively rising slightly and my whole body stiffening. Jon goes into a surprised silence beside me.

“I ah…” Jonathan composes himself and turns to face me, “That’s Adam.” 

I slowly release my stance, embarrassment flooding through me, and I nod in quick agreement. 

“The hell did he learn to do that in District 10?”

Jon shrugs, body nonchalant, but I can see how caught off guard his is by the worry in his eyes, and all of a sudden I realize he’s nothing like the careers of his district, not one bit.

In fact he’s the opposite, full of emotions, talkative, actually shows that he cares about things or takes interest in them.

“Why are you smiling?” Jon gives me a puzzled look and I wipe my expression from my face instantly.

“Nothing, sorry. That’s the other 10 tribute, right?” I hurriedly brush it off and point to a male across the room and Jonathan nods distractedly.

“Ah...yeah, yeah that’s Sork? Sark? Something like that.” I don’t notice anything stunning about the male at first glance, himself already greatly outshone by Adam, so instead I let Jonathan lead me to the left wall of the gymnasium, where he points to the final four tributes, spread out across the area of obstacle courses and obstacle fighting.

“The two guys, they’re from District 11. Not sure about the light brown haired one’s name- I think it starts with a “S’? Or was it a ‘Z’? But the taller one is also named Anthony, so he said he’d go by Chilled.”

The two stand close to one another, talking quietly, Chilled taller with dark brown, nearly black hair and Z… I turn the letter into a name in my mind. Ze has lighter hair and reaches just above his shoulder in height. They’re talking in low tones, but I can hear the occasional laugh, or see one nudge the other on the shoulder, and I know instantly they’re friends. They’re proximity to one another and casual, though subdued banter shows that both are clearly trying to make light of the situation, and a small pang of sympathy well up in my chest.

_I’m glad I don’t have anything like that_

Then I correct myself.

_I have Satt_

I’m grateful when Jon speaks, drawing my attention away from the painful thoughts that were beginning to stir. He motions to the final two tributes, the only girls in the arena.

“District 12. Not sure if these names are their actual ones or not, but they go by Minx and Krism- they didn’t tell me that by the way, I overheard them talking at lunch.” He motions to each girl in turn.

Minx is tall and pale skinned, with deep brown hair and light brown eyes. She stands with her weight slightly to the side, arms crossed, engaged in a low, intense conversation with Krism, but her eyes wander the room, cautious. Krism on the other hand appears relaxed, hands on her hips casually. She has deep brown, almost black hair tinged a tiny bit on the ginger side pulled up in a pony tail, and skin several shades darker than Minx. Though she appears at ease I know instantly she isn’t, for her fingers tap her hip constantly, nervous.

Both relax slightly when the other speaks, and their knowledge movements around one another and soft words that pass in between are like a knife in the gut when I realize. Perhaps I’m looking too far into it, perhaps it’s a misunderstanding on my part, but-

“They’re in love, aren’t the?”

Jonathan’s voice, low and sad next to me catches me off guard.

“I- Uh, yeah…” I trail off, not knowing what to say, only watching the two quietly. We stand for a minute, side by side and quiet watching the two before Jon turns away, letting out a frustrated and sad;

“Fuck. God damn it.” 

He walks in the other direction, and with nothing more to do I follow. We find ourselves back at the bench where we started and I sit quietly beside Jon, watching him stare off into space, fiddling with his sleeve.

We sit side by side in silence for a long time.


	11. Chapter Ten:

Near the end of training on the third day, they start to call us out for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district, so as usual District 1 is first. Both of us start when we hear Jonathan’s name called, and with a quick shake of his head Jon rises to his feet.

“Hey-” The words come out of my mouth without permission and he turns back in momentary surprise. “Good...good luck. To the both of you.” I nod my head in both his and Luke’s direction. Jonathan smiles, a soft, genuine thing, and we both know my words stretch far further than the Gamemaker session.

_Good luck in the Games_

“Same to you, Ryan, from both of us.” Jon gestures to Luke and gives another small smile before his name is called for the second time, and he hurries over to a pair of doors leading out of the gymnasium. As I watch him go, the same heavy feeling of sympathy fills my chest, and my gaze unconsciously drifts to Luke, who is watching the double doors and Jon’s retreating back silently.

_Brothers_

I’m startled out of my daze by someone leaning against the wall beside me, and I turn to be greeted by Satt, a curious look in his eyes.

“What did he want?” 

For some reason this rubs me the wrong way, and my voice comes out snapper then I intended. 

“He- Jonathan just wanted to talk.” 

Satt raises a hand slightly in defense and takes a step back, falling into silence beside me. We wait as names are called in order, Luke, Tyler, Evan, and then me. As I slowly leave my position against the wall, I catch a quiet, but sincere “Good luck,” from Satt, and I nod in reply before heading over to the doors.

Two people, a male and a female in black bodysuits stand on either side of the doors, gaze straight ahead, arms crossed, and legs spread out in a solid stance. It’s for intimidation, and with a flash of rebellion I walk between them and shove open the doors without even acknowledging their presence. It doesn’t give as much satisfaction as I hoped.

My eyes take in everything the moment I step into the smaller gymnasium, and I see more compact versions of nearly everything in the normal training area. The Gamemakers go from talking excitedly amongst themselves to bored in an instant and anger flares in my chest. District 3 is unimportant to them, a placeholder between the impressive tributes of District 2 and 4. I turn heel and make my way towards the knives station, aware of my overly heavy footsteps echoing- loud and booming in the silence. The chatter of the Gamemakers slowly hush behind me as I pick up a throwing knife, small and light in my hand. I’m aware of their gazes on my back, and I don’t want to turn and face them, don’t want to acknowledge their presence. For a moment I let memories take hold of me, safe in my own head where the world around me meant nothing.

_”No, no-” Father repositioned his hold on my hand, laughing. “Like this, Ryan.” My small hands clench the knife’s handle tightly, relaxing ever so slightly as his large, warm hands take ahold of the knife over my fingers, guiding them to the places where they needed to be. “There, just like that.”_

_He briefly pulls the knife from my hands and shows me again, as he has for the last hour until he’s satisfied I know. “Like this, see?” he holds out his hands, knife held tight, but not too much._

_He returns the knife to me and my fingers find the right places, and he smiles. I giggle, my eight-year old self proud of my accomplishment._

_“Now throw it- careful now, don’t get yourself hurt,”_

_The knife leaves my hands and flies a mile short and a mile wide of the target, but my father claps, happy, proud. “In due time you’ll be better than me.” Hands ruffles my hair and I squint in disbelieving as I run to retrieve the small sliver of silver glinting with bright, white light in the morning sun._

I don’t want to come back, but I do, and I turn confidently, burning with defiance and the urge to prove myself. Walking to the middle of the room, I turn, holding the knife in my hand the way I did years ago. The silence is deafening, suffocating, and I release a heavy breath for simple noise before positioning myself.

I sprint forward, vaulting a weapon rack and ducking under a hanging net before whirling, throwing the knife with an unconscious yell. It flies fast and deadly- sticking into the wooden head of a practise dummy with a loud _‘THUD’_ that rings throughout the room for a good couple seconds. 

Breath a little catchy from the adrenaline burst, I turn to face the Gamemakers, all who wear an expression of surprise. After a moment, one of them, a tall raven haired man rises to his feet and nods approvingly.

“Thank you Ryan, you may leave.” I nod back in unconscious politeness and walk back towards the doors, a little surprised. Was that it? 

Apparently it was, because as I’m pushing my way through the doors, Satt steps through behind me. I clap his shoulder as I pass, and he gives me a hint of a smile before it vanishes into the blank mask he wore at the reaping.

I’m told I can leave by the male guard, and so I flee back to the elevator, more than happy to escape the views of weapons and survival, a constant reminder of what was to come. My floor is empty when I come back, quiet and barren without other people, and while I wait for someone to arrive, as I’m sure they will, I wander. I open doors, enter rooms, explore the other wings of our floor belonging to Natashia and Rubin and Aja and more. Nothing changes really, there are few differences, and when I poke my head in, then step into Satt’s room it’s no different. His is identical to mine, only mirrored because it’s across the hall from me.

“Could have sworn entering someone’s room uninvited was an invasion of privacy.”

I let out a very manly scream and turn, stumbling backwards a few steps. Satt smirks, then burst out laughing as I feel my cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“You- You- You startled me.” I bury my face in my hands as Satt laughs harder, leaning on the wall for support.

“I’m sorry, just- your scream-”

I groan as he continues to laugh, and I start trying to push my way out the door. Satt grabs my sleeve, pulling me back, still laughing.

“No- I’m sorry, it’s just funny.” He grins at me and all at once I see my childhood friend again, eyes alight and whole face glowing with laughter. He shakes his head, still smiling. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

A smile tugs onto my lips at the memory and I let him pull me back inside, shutting the door and still letting out the occasional laugh.

“Okay, okay- calm.” He grins again and I return it, moving so I can sit on the edge of the bed. Satt leans against the wall across from me and runs a hand through his hair as he calms himself. After a few seconds he shakes himself and stands up straight, walking a few paces towards me.

“Do you know the token rule?” I blink in surprise, not expecting anything like this.

Each tribute in the games is allowed one token form their district. It has to go through examination and testing, and cannot be anything that could potentially be used as a weapon or give you an advantage in the games. Often the tokens are small pieces of jewelry or a little toy- something to remember home while you're in the arena.

“Yeah, of course,” I reply, aware of the serious turn the conversation has taken. Satt nodes in relief and reaches into his packet, pulling out his closed fist.

“Well...my family gave this to me, back in District 3. But I- I don’t want it. And so I want you to take it.” 

He uncurls his hand to reveal a small, flat circular silver pendant, made of metal and very thin. Tiny grooves etched it’s surface in a labyrinth like pattern, and it hangs from a simple metal chain.

I stare from the pendant to him and back in surprise.

“But why- isn’t this yours?” I ask haltingly. He shrugs. 

“Maybe so, but I still want you to have it, Ryan.” He looks at me pleadingly, and my chest grows heavy. I can't refuse him- I owe him at least this much.

“Yeah. Okay, I'll...I’ll take it.” Satt smiles happily and beckons me closer. I walk over to him and he unclasps the chain, moving his arms around my head to secure it at the base of my neck. When he steps back and releases the chain, the pendant settles against my neck, cold and surprisingly heavy.

“Promise that you’ll always wear it- in the arena I mean.” Satt’s voice is soft. I meet his gaze solemnly and the appreciation in my chest is so strong it’s overpowering. 

“Of course.” I reply in a tone equally as quiet.

For a moment we only watch one another, and then we’re both moving forward, clinging to the other, hugging like there’s no tomorrow. We stay like that for who knows how long, silent and still, wrapped in one another's arms and desperate not to pull away, not to face the reality of the situation growing steadily, unhaltingly closer.

“I don’t want this…” Satt breaths, voice so faint it’s barely a whisper. 

“Me neither,” I hug him tighter, and for a moment- only a split second of time I allow myself to relax the stress that’s formed a cage around my heart. 

Finally, after what seems an eternity, Satt loosens his grip and steps back, letting our arms slide apart. His eyes are watery and I know mine are too, and when Satt’s breath shakes, I quietly head towards the door. He gives me a small, grateful smile, so full of sadness that my own heart melts in understanding. 

“No matter what happens...You know you’re still my closest childhood friend, right?” I say softly, voice coming out more pained and anguished then I’d intended. He nods quickly before turning his back to me, hands flying to his face and I silently slip out of room, giving him his privacy. Satt was never the type of person who liked others seeing him cry.

I don’t cry- only a heavy, hollow feeling engulfs me, leading me mindlessly out into the dining area. The voices that call out to me a muffled, I’m too distracted to pay attention until a light touch on my wrist brings me back to Aja’s soft voice.

“Ryan, come over with us.” I follow without fight, letting her lead me over the other table where Rubin, Elowen, and Natashia sit. Everyone gives me curious stares as Aja pulls me into a chair beside her, then resumes her conversation as if nothing had happened. The others hesitantly respond to her, and after a minute or so the tone of the conversation turns back normal. Aja keeps one hand rested on my shoulder the entire time, but other then that, she doesn’t acknowledge me. 

My gratitude towards her in amazing. Sitting in silence and not having to worry about talking, but at the same time surrounded by people and a comforting hand calms me down, and the stress eases only a tiny bit.

“Satt isn’t in good shape, is he,” Aja questions in a low tone once she gets a break in the conversation. I shake my head and she gives my shoulder a squeeze before rising to her feet.

“The scores will be televised soon, and it’s best both tributes be here, yes? I will go find Satt.” She gives me a small reassuring smile before heading off in the direction of Satt’s room.

In an instant, all three other adults are starting at me. I shift uncomfortable under their gaze.

“Do you have to stare…” I mumble at the same time they all blurt out

“What happened?”

I tug at the ends of my hoodie, pulling the sleeves down over my hands uneasily.

“Satt….We’re childhood friends. We got emotional.”

Rubin’s expression fills with sympathy and Elowen gives a heartbroken, dramatic sigh. But it’s Natashia who lets out a soft ‘Oh’ that has me feeling bad for speaking. Her normally blank eyes fill with sadness and her lips for a soft frown.

Though I never saw it, I was told about Natasha's games. Her district partner, an 18-year old male, had taken Natashia under his wing, treating her like a little sister and protecting her till the end. He’s what got Natasha through the games, both in survival and emotions. In the end, the pair were the only tributes remaining. Natasha was forced to kill him for the games to end and he wouldn’t let her do anything else, he wanted her to leave.

Natasha had killed him with tears streaming down her face.

Fingers brush my lower arm and I look up to meet my mentors vivid blue eyes, full of emotion for the first time. She stays silent, but her touch reveals everything she cannot say.

“It’ll be alright, Ryan.” Rubin treasures, but Natasha's eyes tell me a different story. They tell me how everything is _not_ okay, how it will never _be_ okay, and yet there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

“Stay strong.” She says very quietly, and she’s not giving me false hope like the others, reassuring me that nothing is wrong. 

I force a tiny smile and nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this took so much longer to come out then the others, Christmas time has taken it's toll. I hope you all had wonderful holidays, and if anyone has holidays coming up, I hope you have the best time. Many thanks to all that read this story <3


	12. Chapter Eleven:

When Aja returns with Satt in tow, Elowen takes to forcing some food down both of our throats, and as much as I hate her for it, I’m grateful, for some of my anxiety lessens. Even Satt has a bit more color in his cheeks when we all finally gather in the sitting room to watch when the scores are announced on television. 

It’s the same as every year.()First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it.()

Both Luke and Jon, and the two from District 2 have ‘tens’, unsurprising for tributes of the career districts, and their age. I don’t doubt in the slightest that all four know how to fight, and fight well. Next up comes District 3, and I blink in surprise when my face flashes on screen, and a glowing ‘eight’ appears beside it. Elowen cheers somewhere to my left and both Aja and Rubin look excited- even Natashia smiles. A flicker of pride stirs in my chest and I let out a relieved laugh, it’s far better than I expected to get. Satt grins in reply, but I can see the nervousness etched in his eyes. I turn back to the screen to see Satt’s number flash on screen, a ‘six’. It’s not a extraordinary score, but it’s not bad either, and Satt relaxes beside me a bit. 

Everyone is talking like mad and I only catch bits and pieces of what’s happening on screen. Both Craig and Brian have good scores, a ‘seven’ and ‘nine’ respectively, Surprising especially for the thirteen year old. 

Scotty, the one climbing like a mad man in the gymnasium scored a ‘seven’ as well, and Adam from District 10 a ‘ten’. Even the two girls from District 12 score high. 

Nervousness flares through me when I realize just how _good_ most everyone in this years Games. It’s rare to have so many people with such high scores, and fear begins to claw its way forward as I realize what’s to come. Just how close the start of the Games is.

I have to turn away from the others and swallow hard to calm the sick feeling swarming in my stomach. The night passes in a blur of chatter and planning, talk of the interviews. I’m only half listening the entire time, occupied with my own thoughts and constant “What Ifs?” What if I die? Win? Have to kill Satt, or Jon, or _anyone?_ I scarcely notice the world around me, and the talk goes on so late that by the time I am allowed to crawl into bed, I’m already half asleep, though my mind is endlessly restless. 

Though exhaustion has made my eyes scratchy and dry, and my body feels like lead, I don’t sleep a wink, instead finding myself drifting over the the window and leaning on the sill. 

Wind blows through the window and chills me to the bone, leaving my cheeks and hands tingling and numb. The city before me is bathed in a pale glow, street lights and the occasional house light forming shapes and patches of bluish-white that stand out against the shadowed buildings. Peacekeepers occasionally pass on the roads below, movements slower and less authoritarian than during the day. The sky is a deep and endless blue, almost black. Shadowy clouds block the stars from view, and a faintly lit patch of clouds glow brighter in the sky, where they shield the moon from view. 

Far in the distance are the silhouette of trees, and a sense of longing and homesickness washes over me as I clasp my hands in my lap, sitting on the window sill, legs dangling several stories above the ground. The longer I stare the heavier my eyes grow, until I tug the window closed. For a brief second I rest my forehead against the window frame, eyes closing.

A sharp knocking wakes me with a start, and letting out a startled shriek, I tumble off my perch and land hard on the carpeted ground. There’s a pause before the the knocking starts up again and Elowen calls out.

“Ryan! You alright in there?” With a moan of pain I push myself up onto my knees, fingers kneading the painful lump on my head. I blink and glance around, eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. The side of my head and cheek are cold from where they pressed against the glass window, and my legs and arms ache from being in a curled up position for so long. With more than a little shaky movement I rise to my feet, steadying myself on the edge of the window sill.

“Yeah-” I call back. My voice came out raspier than I expected. I swallow and try again. “Yeah...I’m alright.” There’s a moment of silence before the door opens with a click and Elowen rushes in, scanning the room in search of me. 

“Oh!” Her eyes widen as she sees me, and her eyebrows raise so high I have to stifle a laugh at how comical it looks. “Why look at you, can’t have you walking around like that! Take a shower at once and then come down the the dining area- we have the most urgent topics to discuss!”

Her high pitched voice echos painfully in my still groggy head, and it’s a relief when she finishes herding me over to the bathroom and leaves with another reminder to “Not be late!”

The shower actually help a lot, the hot water draining the soreness from my limbs and dulling my thoughts enough that I can focus and wake up. The water feels nice, like warm rain, and I have to force the homesickness from my head before it takes over. Now is not the time to be depressed. 

When I glance in the mirror, I have to do a double take. I look far more...I don’t know what. But I don’t look how I feel. In the reflective glass I see a short, slightly scrawny eighteen year-old with a tangle of brown hair and hazel eyes. But that boy has his chin raised, and eyes clear and bright. His arms crossed across his chest look like they’re there out of a feeling of security and confidence, rather then self comfort and a desire to hide. I look...strong, emotionally. 

Confusion racks my brain, and I see my reflection brow furrowed in confusion as well. Is this how I appear to those around me? This...comfortable? All of a sudden, Satt’s words come rushing back, what he spoke of that night I overheard. Of my score, matching that of someone previous years’ career tributes. Of Jonathan coming and talking to me. 

I look like a competitor. 

I look like potential winner.

A sense of sickness washes over me and I flee the bathroom, flee the mirror showing me something that is impossible to see. _No wonder everyone seems so interested in me. They don’t see what I see._ I don’t know if that’s bad...or a good. 

The day passes in a blur, all preparation for the next days interviews. I’m distracted, and I can tell the others notice it too by the glances I get, and the way Elowen pats me on the back and the end of the day. Sadly Aja isn’t here, and neither is Rubin. They’re off preparing outfits for the interviews. The highlight of the day is when Natashia and I sit down, and she begins to instruct me on how I want to do my interview.

“You have a natural charm with crowds. You need to use that. You need to get the capitol to fall in love with you.”

I stare at her like she’s crazy, and restrain an astonished laugh threatening to bubble up at her words. 

“Natural charm. I’m awkward and giggly and am terrified to show my face. Natural charm?” I don’t know why it’s so funny to me, but it is, and a huffy laugh pulls its way free. 

Her expression remains neutral. 

“Yes, natural charm. At the reaping, you appeared unphased, and on the way to the train you looked the same. When we arrived at the capitol, you waved to the crowds waiting. They loved that, Ryan, you saw how they yelled and clapped. On the chariot ride, you may not have noticed it, but you laughed in amazement a couple seconds after it activated, and the crowds went wild. I don’t know what it is about you, but people seem to fall in love with you very easily, and you need to use that to your advantage.”

I let out a soft ‘oh’, all traces of humor gone. All of a sudden the chair underneath me feels cold, and I have to resist the urge to curl up, to tuck my legs up to chest. Natasha's expression softens, and she rests her hand on my knee gently.

“You’ll do alright, Ryan. Not alright- well. You’re at your best when you don’t try, when you’re being yourself. So don’t think of it as an interview. Think of it as a conversation.”

That night, Natasha's words tumble around my head at the same pace as the butterflies in my stomach. The interview is the next day, and the day after that...nervous bile rises up in my throat and I swallow thickly, fear eating away at me. 

I lay awake for hours before restless sleep drags me under.


	13. Chapter Twelve:

I wake to Rubin standing over me, flanked on either side by the rest of the prep team from when I first arrived. He flashes a quick smile and holds out his hand.

“Let’s get you ready, hm?”

My day with Elowen and Natashia is over, this day is completely given to Rubin in order to create my appearance for the interviews this afternoon. For hours they go through the same process as before, washing and scrubbing, but this time they do more. I watch in a mirror as they use thin layers of makeup, that seem barely to show up, yet bring my eyes and facial features out more then I realized was possible. The man washes and cuts my hair, leaving it in it’s slightly messy, tad long state, but neater around the edges, more...sharp. 

Finally Rubin returns, a covered bundle in his arms. He gives me a small teasing smile, and after a moment of consideration, instructs me to shut my eyes. Hesitantly I do so, and nearly instantly I can feel cloth rustling around me, on my arms and legs. I blindly stumble and several pairs of arms steady me, helping me step into pants and shoes. After a few minutes the movement stops, and silence greets my ears. A few agonizingly long seconds pass as curiosity builds up in my chest, until finally Rubin says.

“Open your eyes.”

Cautiously I do so, gaze falling on the large mirror before me. My mouth quite literally falls open in shock. 

I’m wearing a black jacket, with thin tubes of pale blue light flowing up the sleeves and sides of my body. Thin threads of silver seem to flicker in the blue glow, and silvery metallic adornes the lower part of the sleeves, blending seamlessly into gloves that make my hands appear as though they are part machine. The hood of the jacket is pulled up over my head, so a few tusks of brown hair stick out in the front. I notice there are small streaks of black dyed into the natural color. Black pants made of a rough material cover my legs, and a small metal clasp of some kind is magnetically held in the front. Tall lace up boots raise to a few inches below my knees, more complex versions of those from the chariot ride with more tubes and glints of silver, and matte black leather. 

Hazel eyes full of awe stare back at me, brought forward strikingly by thin details of makeup. My face looks less rounded and childish, and I can do nothing but stare, stunned. 

When I finally tear my eyes away and glance to the side, I see the prep team and Rubin watching anxiously, as though waiting for my response. 

“I’m well aware black isn’t a common color to use for District 3, but I figured tributes had had quite enough of that same old bright, blinding silver.” The nervous disdain in Rubin’s voice, so full of disbelief that one could want such an outfit is hilarious, and a laugh tugs it’s way free, fueled off of relief and nervousness that’s twisted it’s way through my stomach. I unconsciously smile, stifling a few giggles as the prep team stares in surprise. 

“I’m...I’m sorry,” I chuckle. “I like it, I really do...in fact, it’s amazing. Thank you.”

Despite their naivety and brainwashed Capitol lives, my prep team aren’t really bad people, and when their faces light up with pure joy at my complement, my heart melts. Rubin smiles proudly, as though he’s unaccustomed to tributes showing gratitude towards his efforts. I give them another smile before Elowen rushes in, near tripping in her haste. 

“Goodness, you’d think dressing would take far less time with two boys then a boy and a girl, but clearly not. Come on, up, up hurry, we’ve got a interview to go to!” The prep team shouts encouragement after me as Elowen near drags me out the door. Her strides are so long I have to half run to keep up with her, her death grip on my wrist leaving me in an awkward, leaning position. 

()The interviews take place on a stage constructed outside of the Training Center. Once we reach the elevators, it’ll be minutes until I’m in front of the crowds, the cameras, all of Panem.()

All at once I’m completely overcome with stage fright, and stumble in Elowen’s grasp. She pauses to help me steady herself, and by the sympathetic gaze she flashes in my direction she knows exactly what’s wrong. 

“Remember Ryan, they already love you. Just be yourself.” 

It’s the first time Elowen’s words have sounded completely caring.

()We met up with the rest of the District 3 crowd at the elevator. Aja and her gang have been hard at work.() Satt wears a simple shirt and pants, but the design covering the cloth’s surface is hypnotic. Alternating pattern of blues, greys, and greens spread out like circles from his right shoulder down the the bottom left edge of his pants. Like the lights crisscrossed around my arms, the colors seem to glow, giving Satt a sort of pale blue aura. 

All around us people are rushing and chattering, but somehow Satt catches my gaze. The quick cocky smile that breaches his lips throws me completely off guard- I’ve become so accustomed to the normal sullen and emotionless attitude he had when it came to capitol things that the childish competitiveness gleaming in his eyes seems wrong.

“You look good, Ryan!” Then, as Elowen grabs his arm to pull him towards the elevator, “Let's see who they like best, yeah?” Another laugh and he’s forced to turn away from me, and that’s when I catch on. As I hurry to catch up, I recognize the overzealous confidence and giggling that Satt is acting with- even more so than the amount he normally carried as a kid. He’s nervous, same as me. For some reason this is a huge relief, and I can feel a bit of weight that’d settled around my heart lifting, allowing me to breathe easier. 

By the time we reach the backstage area, the other tributes are already milling around, standing silently or conversing in low voices. I scarcely have time to have a solid look around before a man with flamboyantly spiky hair rushes in, a piece of crumpled paper strangled in his hand, and begins to herd everyone into a line. Being District 3, we’re near the beginning of the interviews, and so I find a place standing beside Satt. I glance up as Jonathan passes, and the black haired male glances at me briefly before following Luke to the front of the line. I don’t envy the tall ginger in the slightest- having to go first. 

The only good thing about all of this upcoming bravado is Caesar Flickerman, the host of the interviews that had been around for longer then I can remember. He’s funny, witty, and is able to make the shyest of tributes come out of their shells, and the most boring answers cause a riot. I give silent thanks he’s still doing the interviews and have time for nothing more as a door opens and the screams of the audience comes crashing down around us. Several people flinch and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. The younger tributes like Bryce and Smitty clearly doesn’t care as much as I do, for their hands quickly find the sides of their heads.   
The spiky haired man motions and we walk onto the stage in a line. I don't realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out shakely as the harsh stage lights wash over me in a shower of white and gold. It’s dizzying, being up so high and in front of such a crowd, and I stare in barely less then opened mouth shock at the sea of faces before me. I focus heavily on simply walking to my chair, for I fear if I let my mind slip, I’ll fall. 

()Although evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer’s day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for the prestigious guests, with the stylists commanding the front row. The camera will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed in are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight.()

Each year, for each respective game, Caesar’s hair is dyed a different color. This year it’s a pale yellowish-white, leaving the tall and recognizable male with platinum blonde hair. It makes the twinkling white lights on his midnight suit, made to resemble stars, stand out all the more. In the stage light, he almost seems to glow. He’s speaking, telling a few jokes and a bit of commentary to warm up the crowd, but then he gets down to business, motioning towards the front of the line. 

Luke stands and walks towards the middle of the stage. For the first time, I take a good look at the other half of District 1’s duo. Unlike Jonathan’s black hair, shorter height, and slightly hispanic tinted skin, Luke is tall and pale, with reddish-brown hair that resembles the color of clay. A slightly more ginger beard contrasts this. His eyes are brown and alert, and his outfit is simple, but effective. Long greenish-grey pants and and black t-shirt, his hair swept over in one direction, and little bit of makeup on his face. You can tell his mentor didn’t struggle with an angle for him. His lack of flamboyant attire and his built form radiate an air of competitiveness and confidence. His outfit speaks all that the stylists were trying to portray. 

‘I don’t need to be flashy to be noticed’

Whether Luke shares that attitude is beyond me. But from how quiet and rather unsocial he’s been at all opportunities I have to see him, I think not. However his confident walk and small smile makes me lean towards double guessing that assumption. Despite that initial notice, I can sense an air of caution about him, in the ways his eyes flit over everything and and his hand clenches and unclenches once, out of view of the camera. 

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. 

()Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. I’ll say this for Caesar, he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He’s friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.()

I sit as still as I’m able, trying not to fidget as the interviews slip by. Everyone is playing up some angle, all no doubt dictated by their respective mentor. Jonathan is mysterious, Tyler blunt, and Evan careless. While the first two fit well, from what I saw Evan was anything but careless, in both his actions and attitude. But I’ll admit, the cocky persona fits his appearance well. His personality, I’m not so sure. 

I’m so nervous that I barely pay attention to a word Satt says through his interview. I feel a little bad, but try not to dwell on it too much. I don’t want another reminder we’re going to be enemies in less than a day. When Satt returns to his seat beside me and Caesar emotions towards me, I have to fight the urge to throw up. I breath once, deeply, through my teeth. Then I stand and walk toward the chairs stationed in the center of the stage. 

Instantly, I’m bathed in even more lights than ever and the beams feel hot against my face. When I reach Caesar, he gives a teasing smile and offers his hand. Confusion flashes through me as I accept it and let him guide me down into the chair beside him before shaking my hand, and action he normally reserved for the female tributes. 

“Apologies Ryan, I simply couldn’t help myself. Too few ladies this time around, and I had to get it out of my system. Besides, look at you. Surely you’re prettier then the most of them. Sorry girls!” He shoots over his shoulder in the direction of the District 12 girls and I feel my cheeks grow ever warmer at the flattery. The crowd both shouts agreement with Caesar's teasing and laughs when the girls wave carelessly at the unintended insult. 

Before I can double guess myself, I take a shaky breath and slip into banter, catching both myself and quite a bit of the audience off guard.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Caesar.” For a split second he’s surprised before he laughs loudly, the audience soon joining him. 

“You don’t think it’s too much?” He fakes worry and glances, horrified at the crowd. “I’m not so sure about the blond…” The crowd shout their reassurances and Caesar flashes another smile in my direction. “But let’s not talk about my looks. You yourself are stunning, Ryan.”

“Thank Rubin for that,” I respond, nodding my head and cautiously allow myself to smile in the direction of the stylists. For the first time I realize that I’m more relaxed talking in front of this huge crowd, borderline _flirting_ with the interviewer. More calm in front of the camera. The hell?

“Now Ryan, you got an eighth as your training score. Clearly you are not all looks.” He leans close, faking a whisper “Not that I ever thought you were, naturally.” 

“No, of course not,” I respond easily, letting good natured sarcasm slip over my words. More laughter from Caesar and the crowd.

“But you’ve impressed them for sure. Would you care to tell us what went down?” He prods, and I laugh, a slight giggle, catching myself off guard at the sound. But before I can speak, a series of ‘awwws’ and cheers arise from the crowd and I heavily blush, laughing again. Caesar slaps me on the shoulder and grins widely at the audience. 

“Now look what you’ve done! You’ve interrupted the sweet boy!” This only makes me more flustered, something Caesar no doubt intended and there’s no time for me to get a word in over the crowd before the buzzer goes off. 

“Sorry we’re out of time,” Caesar laughs, hashing the crowd. “Best of luck, Ryan Wartham, tribute from District 3.” My confidence vanishes in seconds as I walk back to my chair, catching more than a few surprised and stunned looks from the other tributes. I’m shocked at myself. That person in front of the crowd...it wasn’t me. Or at least me as I’ve been this entire time. I recognized the laughter and banter and flirting, but it’s the type of shit I only pull around my closest friends. Certainly not for an audience, and definitely not for a crowd of capitol strangers! 

‘But you’ve never done anything like that. Never been on camera.’ A part of my mind chides. ‘You’re more comfortable there.’ I don’t want to agree.

But that side of me is right.


	14. Chapter Thirteen:

I don’t fully come to my senses until I’m off the stage and back in the corridors criss crossing behind it. Everything is a bit of a blur, I can’t remember a thing about any interviews that came after mine. I suppose I didn’t really care. I drift through the rest of the evening and don't talk all throughout dinner. 

I don’t look at Satt. Rather, I _can’t_ look at him. Not when tomorrow the Games begin. He makes no attempt to converse with me or grab my attention, so I can only assume he’s going through the same struggle as me. 

_There are twenty four of us. What are the chances it’ll be him?_ I repeat it to myself like a mantra. 

After dinner we watch the replay of the interviews in the sitting room. I cringe at myself, my words and actions, even as everyone around me assures that I am charming and winning. Once again I find myself unable to focus on the other tributes. Or rather, afraid to. I don’t want to like any of them. 

()When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush falls over the room. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don’t start until ten because so many of the Capitol residents rise late.

I know Natashia and Elowen will not be going with us. As soon as they leave here, they’ll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up our sponsors, working out a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Aja and Rubin will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be launched into the arena. Still final goodbyes must be said here.()

Elowen looks me over once, then Satt, and then smiles. Not the usual melodramatic smile that stretches her face impossibly wide, rather a small and genuine smile. 

“I don’t think Natashia will be alone next year.” She rests her hands briefly on each of our shoulders, and then with a flustered shake, checks her watch and rushes out of the room shouting about schedules. I can’t suppress a small grin. She couldn’t let go of her dramatics for long.

Natashia then steps forward. Her hair hangs loosely down her back, her eyes searching and calm.

“I could give you advice now. Tell you what to do and when to do it. But I’m not in that arena with you. I have no more control over it then you do. However, I will tell you this. Don’t be rash. Don’t let yourself get cocky. That will be your downfall. But as to your actions? You will know better in the moment then I ever can from here.” 

She gives us both a soft look.

“Good luck, Ryan. Good luck Satt.”

When I return to my room, Satt hangs back and I’m eternally grateful. However we part, what we say or do can wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to face it right now. 

I step into the shower and scrub makeup and dye from my skin and hair, watching it swirl down the drain in grainy streaks of black and peach. I sag against the freezing title of the shower wall, my back growing cold as my front burns from the hot water. I’m exhausted in every way, mentally, physically, emotionally. I want desperately just to sleep, but I know I never will. My mind's going a million miles per hour, never ending thoughts about tomorrow’s Games raking through me. I turn off the shower and lay down in bed, staring up blankly at the ceiling. 

()It’s no good. One hour, two, three pass, and my eyelids refuse to get heavy. I can’t stop trying to imagine exactly what terrain I’ll be thrown into. What will the climate be like? What traps have the gamemakers hidden to liven up the slower moments? And then there are my fellow tributes…() 

Eventually I find myself drifting to the window and staring once again out across the city. It’s overcast and dark again, though the streets are full of lights and loud, partying people. I slump against the window sill, completely drained and seemingly eternally awake. I jerk in surprise when a streak of light illuminates the wall behind me and I turn to see the door cracked open, a silhouette framed against the wall. 

Quietly, Satt steps in, letting the door slide closed with a gentle click. For a moment we simply stare, unmoving at one another. Then finally, I speak, my voice coming out softer and more resigned then usual.

“Could have sworn entering someone’s room uninvited was an invasion of privacy.”

He smiles at the memory, and when he approaches to stand beside me at the window, I let him. For what seems like hours we stand in companionable silence, though in reality it probably has only been a few minutes. Twin gazes fall on the streets below. 

“I feel bad for them.” Satt finally breaks the stillness, staring sadly out across the city.

“What?” I question, turning to stare at him in confusion. He motions to the crowds of party goers below. 

“For the people in the Capitol. That they never get a chance to live outside of their cushioned lives. That they never get to see reality.”

A spark of anger flashes through me.

“You feel _bad_ for them?” I snap in an appalled tone. “They’re living the best life! They’re safe and happy and rich. They have everything!” 

Satt gives me a calm, nearly patronizing look, as if I’m being childish. 

“It’s not their fault they were born into this life.”

“It’s not our fault we were born in the Districts. And they certainly don’t do anything to help the rest of us outside of their safe haven,” I retort. I know I sound prejudiced and angry, but I am exactly those two things. 

“What can they do?” Satt fires back, tone suddenly argumentative and annoyed. “If they’re so wrong for not helping us, then how are we any better? We don’t help ourselves! We say that everyone else should be helping us, but what are _we_ actually doing for our own freedom? Nothing!”

“These people are the reason we’re both being sent to our DEATH!” I shout back in fury. “How can you _DEFEND_ them?!”

The room goes completely silent, the two of us staring each other down. My ears ring and I’m breathing hard. My hands are shaking. In the silence that stretches, my anger quickly fades, only to be replaced with guilt and sadness. Satt is right. He is right and his word are things I should have realized years ago. I crushing weight settles in my chest and I take a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry.” 

For a moment or two, he says nothing. Then Satt gives a wane smile and brushing his hand over my hair gently, almost absentmindedly. An action he hasn’t done in years.

“It’s alright. I don’t blame you. We should be angry, huh?” 

I shake my head quickly. “No, I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s not your fault. You’re...right. They _are_ sheltered from reality.” 

We lapse into silence once more, but no longer toxic. Instead it’s calm and still, and I twist so I can sit on the windowsill and look out across the horizon. With a quick glance that asks permission, Satt sits beside me. After another minute or so, Satt begins to talk quietly, murmuring sarcastic observations of the city below and cracking snide jokes about capitol attire and parties. For a moment I stare at him in confusion, then simply let him continue his bantery commentary. It’s amusing, occasionally pulling a light giggle out of me, despite the anxiety of tomorrow welled up inside of me. 

Satt’s quiet and sleepy laughter is soothing, and his sarcasm is witty, though has no heat behind it. The clouds have thinned, revealing speckles of stars and a midnight blue sky, contrasted by the bright blue and gold lights of the city. I have the fleeting thought that I could stay like this forever, under the night sky. I wish I could.

 

I wake to warm, just post dawn sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating my face. Drunkenly I sit up to find myself curled up on the bed, blankets and sheets balled up around me. I search the room, but Satt is gone. I can only assume I fell asleep, and...he must have put me in the bed… A rush of gratitude, warmth and crushing sadness spikes through me all at once. 

The Games are today.

()I don’t see Satt throughout the morning. Rubin comes to me quickly, gives me a simple set of shirt and pants to wear, and guides me to the roof. My final dressing and preparations will be done in the catacombs under the arena itself. A hovercraft appears out of thin air when it’s shield is disabled, and a ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the lower rungs and instantly it’s as if I’m frozen. Some sort of current glues me to the ladder while I’m lifted safely inside.

I expect the ladder to release me then, but I’m still stuck when a woman in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe. “This is just your tracker, Ryan. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it,” She says.()

It doesn’t matter, I can’t move a muscle, but I still feel a harsh stab of pain when the needle is pushed into the inside of my forearm, settling the metal tracking device deep under the skin. Rubin is pulled up from the roof, and we’re directed by an avox girl into a room where breakfast has been laid out. I have absolutely no appetite, but I force myself to eat something, even though it makes me feel sick beyond what my anxiety already had.

()The ride lasts about half an hour before the windows black out, suggesting we’re nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands and Rubin and I go back to the ladder, only this time it leads down into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We following instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. In the districts, it’s referred to as the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.   
Everything is brand new, I will be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the games. Popular destination for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Gor for a month, rewatch the games, tour the catacombs visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments.

They say the food is excellent. 

I struggle to keep my breakfast down as I shower and clean my teeth. Rubin brushes a comb through my hair to vaguely smooth it, through to my surprise he leaves it rather messy still. Then the clothes arrives, the same for every tribute. ()

Simple black pants, a white short sleeved shirt, a slim but sturdy charcoal grey belt make up the most of the outfit. The other big part is the jacket, a deep grey that’s a shade lighter than the belt with a large hood. It has a zipper in the front, though Rubin suggests I leave it unzipped. The final section is the boots, made of soft leather and a dark brown, almost black. They’re comfortable. 

I pace a couple times throughout the room as Rubin checks that everything fits. Finally, he speaks in a low, reserved voice.

“There’s nothing to do but wait for the call.” I nod sharply and sit beside him on the couch, stomach clenching and unclenching. I’m dizzy with nervousness and preemptive adrenalin. I anxiously chew on my finger nails, a habit I could have sworn I was over.

()Nervousness seeps into terror as I anticipate what’s to come. I could be dead, flat-out dead, in an hour. Not even.()

I fidget restlessly, leg bouncing against the floor in a quick and jumpy rhythm. Rubin glances in my direction for the umptenth time before he extands a hand out towards me. After a moment of hesitation, I gratefully take it.

“I’m not as good at this as Aja,” He murmurs, an apologetic undertone to his words. “But the both of us are routing for you two. You and Satt… I think you two can make your district proud.” He smiles gently and gives my hand a squeeze. I squeeze back, considerably harder then he had, but my breath comes a little bit easier. We sit side by side, my hand clenching his tightly until a pleasant female voice gomes over the speaker system with a rush of static, announcing it’s time to prepare for launch.

I rise shakely to my feet, my heart beating loud and fast in my chest and ears. Rubin walks beside me over to the circular metal plate in the far corner of the room. I bit down the urge to bolt and with trembling legs, step onto it. 

Rubin gives me one final smile, and then without warning, leans over and hugs me.

“From all of us. Me, Aja, Natashia, and Elowen.” 

I bit my lip hard so I don’t cry.

He steps back slowly.

“Good luck, Ryan.” 

Then a cylinder of glass lowers around me, confining me in a tube like shape. Rubin waves his hand and adjusts his posture so he’s standing tall, with his chin raised. I mimik him and he gives me a brief grin and a thumbs up before the cylinder begins to rise. For twenty seconds, I’m surrounded by pure darkness. Then the metal plate pushes me out of the cylinder and into open air. I’m momentarily blind from bright sunlight, and I can hear wind in my ears and animals in the distance. 

()Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms all around me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the One-hundredth Hunger Games begin!”


	15. Chapter Fourteen:

()Sixty seconds. That’s how long we’re required to stand on our metal circles before the sounds of a gong releases us. Step off before the minute is up and landmines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes all equidistant from the Cornucopia(). This year it’s a huge concrete pit in the ground shaped like an inverted cone that sinks down and down until the very bottom levels off to a small circular surface that is ringed with things that are essential to our life in the arena. ()Food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, garments, fire starters.() Platforms jut out from the sides, wide apart near the top and growing narrower and more cramped the further the pit sinks. These are also covered in supplies, their value decreasing the further up and away from the tip of the cone. The closer to us they are. 

Between us and the Cornucopia stretches a wide, flat, open stretch of ground made of sheets of rock and hard-packed soil. To my left, no more than thirty feet away I see that the land ends abruptly in a cliff. In front of me and to my right, beyond the circle of tributes is a forest that stretches as long as I can see. A look over my shoulder shows that directly behind me is a wide, flat prairie covered in long grass. In the distance I see foothills and larger rocks faces building up to a large mountain. Behind me and to my left is another forest, this one with taller, darker trees and a thick canopy that seems to block out the light. 

The Cornucopia's only purpose it to start the bloodbath. Tributes will run in to gather the essential supplies and will inevitably begin to fight. In some games, more than half of the tributes die in the first twenty minutes. While running away instantly guarantees you survive that initial wave of death, it comes at a price. You have nothing. This doesn’t serve as so much of an issue for those who know how to live off the land, but even still, the supplies are tempting beyond belief. 

I raise my head and focus no longer on my surroundings but on the other tributes. Satt is directly across the circle from me, the farthest away from anyone. He doesn’t meet my gaze, his body twisting as he turns to examine the landscape around him. I force myself to look away and catch Craig gesturing wildly towards Bryce. They're having a conversation without words, and a quick glance shows that their other teammate, Smitty is clearly agitated. I know the minute must be up, but I find myself entranced by the silent argument. Bryce gives his head a firm and determined shake, his blond hair swishing slightly around his face.

“Bryce, NO!” I hear Craig yell, the silence shattering dramatically.

I’m so taken aback by this that when the buzzer rings out I don’t register it for a few seconds. A deafening gong sends me reeling as I see why Craig panicked. Bryce runs straight towards the Cornucopia, along with many of the other, larger, older tributes. 

I’m from a technology district, and have no survival skills except for what I learned on training days and a little bit of common sense. It’s no secret I won’t last without the modern items within the death trap before me. 

Without a moment more of hesitation, I sprint forward. The shift from grated metal to hard stone is jarring, but my balance sticks and I shoot forward, heart pounding heavy in my chest. Being able to sprint really fast was always a talent of mine- only problem was I could do it for a short distance. But it’s enough to get me to the edge of the concrete pit, and I cling to the rough cement as I half scramble, half slide down it’s heavy decline. 

All around me I hear pounding feet and shoes scraping on hard cement. A short figure blows by my side and a gasp of surprise sticks hard in my throat. Craig is a blur of speed, reaching the bottom levels of the cone before anyone else. I watch as I crawl, both horrified and impressed as he quickly scoops up a backpack by the strap and grabs the nearest weapon, a deadly sharp knife. But he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, climbing up the opposite side and vanishing over the top and out of sight in less than twenty seconds. My feet hit the platform I was going for and I quickly fall to my knees, slinging the brown backpack over my shoulders.   
I turn to assess the best way out when a shrill scream pierces my ears. Instantly my adrenaline spikes, and I feel almost dizzy with fear as I whirl, hands scraping against the walls as I scramble back towards the top of the cornucopia. 

I don’t know what’s happening- I’m too afraid to look, but a huge commotion explodes behind me, deep in the pit. Shouting, the sounds of things crashing to the ground and metal weapons being knocked over. My fingers catch the lip of the cone and with shaking arms I drag myself over the top of the cornucopia, rolling onto my knees on the stiff stone. 

Slowly I raise my head, glancing down at the pit. Several people are running away, disappearing into the jungle forest or the tall grassed plains. But people are also still down in at the bottom of the cone. Several bodies lay motionless on the ground, others slumped over boxes and weapons. My heart drops like a stone when I identify the source of the scream. Blond hair rainging his face, his jacket hanging open and grey shirt brown with blood, Bryce lays spread eagled on his back, cheek against the ground. 

His eyes stare unseeing at the wall.

A pained noise catches in my throat and I whirl, stumbling to my feet. Without looking back again I run, across the rock and past the tribute podiums, where we all once stood. I’m running in such a daze that I don’t realize I’m running on grass until my feet begin to sink into mud. I veer to the side, towards the safety the trees of the forest provide, and once I reach them I don’t stop running.

I run until I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t see. I run trying to rid my mind of a face and scream that will forever haunt me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for such a long hiatus. To anyone who is still supporting this story, thank you so much, I love you <3 Writing is going to be an adventure this year, myself being a Freshman in highschool. Despite that, I'm determined to do better. I have big plans for this story, and refuse to let it die.


	16. Chapter Fifteen:

I stand hunched over against a tree, hands scraping on rough bark as I gasp for air. My throat burns in a way I never thought it could, my arms and legs tremble with the strain of keeping me up. I’m not a runner, but I know I’ve gone several miles without stopping, adrenaline and panic powering my every move. Now that’s gone, replaced with an aching heart and a pounding headache. 

Slowly I inch down to a sitting position, head and side pressed against the tree trunk as I look around, breathing hard. I’m so wound up I can barely focus, and I sit there, frustration building as I stare blankly at what’s around me, unable to process it. Through this fog that has permeated my mind a thought finally breaks through, so innocent amid this chaos that I almost laugh.

I’ve never been in a forest before. 

My hands fall to my sides, fingers raking through the loose, dry dirt and crumpled leaves that coat the forest floor. Tiny shoots, little plants and saplings with their first coating of bark ring tree trunks and fallen hunks of wood. The trees stretch on endlessly, disappearing over the slight crest of a hill far in the distance. Most of the area is shaded, with spotty patches of golden light filtering through leaves and branches. It’s beautiful in a natural way I’ve never seen. 

My only glimpses of the first was through the iron ringed fence of cement-created District 3, or the few pictures in our school textbooks. Being in it is something completely different, like another world. A slight buzzing fills my ears, the sounds of thousands of insects that my brain had filtered out. A bird caw to my right, then another identical one far in front of me create a feeling of depth, that I’m surrounded by nature. 

For a few minutes I simply sit, lost in my head. It’s not until movement to my right snaps my attention away that I realize my breathing had slowed, my racing thoughts calmed. The movement is nothing, simply a squirrel, but the spell is broken. I rise to my feet and look around, but I’ve already noticed all the obvious things around me while in the midst of my daydream. Once again the logical, serious side of my head takes over and once I glance around I notice the most pressing issue. My throat feels dry form all the running and I have the tiniest shake. barely noticeable, but it’ll get worse the more dehydrated I get.  
I scan the ground, the dead leaves and dirt until I notice patches that look darker than the rest. When I kneel down to rake my hands through it, the dirt sticks to my fingertips. I begin to walk in that direction, keeping my gaze on the ground and following the slight valley of dampness, where water from rain collected and ran downhill. 

I’m so concentrated that I nearly jump when a cannon suddenly pierces the stillness. Then another. It continues until seven blasts echo across the skys. The sound is still ringing in my ears when I lower my gaze from the sky, a heavy pressure settling like iron in my chest. 

The cannons fire whenever a person dies in the arena. The cannon blasts for those who died in the initial bloodbath don’t go off until all the fighting in the cornucopia had ended. Which meant seven people, including Bryce, had died. 

I force myself to continue following the trail towards water. 

As I walk forward I can feel the weight of my backpack pressing down on my shoulders, reminding me that I’ve yet to go through its contents. But I know there won’t be any water in the bag. If there _had_ been water at the cornucopia it would have been on its own, as its so valuable. So I decide to wait to search the backpack until I reach my destination.  
A few minutes pass until the ground grows softer under my feet, and the familiar ‘crunch’ of my boots against dried leaves begins to fade. I jog up a small incline and immediately the trees give way to a small river. The sound of bubbling water fills my ears as I step over rocks to the gravely bank.

I stick my hand below the surface of the clear water, feeling the gentle current pulling at my fingers as the cool water surrounds them. After a few seconds I pull my hand back, shaking it to rid it of the numbness the water cause. I know it's not safe to drink stagnant water, but hopefully the currents of the river are enough to keep it relatively clean. I don’t see anything immediately alarming in the water or the surrounding land, so I cup my hands like a bowl and plunge them back into the river, lifting the water to my lips. 

I drink until I can’t hold anymore, the liquid soothing my rough lips and throat. I wipe my wet chin with my sleeve, sitting back on my ass in the dirt as I look around. The forest looks the same as before, stretching out in every direction. But the river continues to my right and left, disappearing around bends further along. Now is as good of a time as ever, so I swing my backpack off of my shoulders, unzipping the biggest pocket. 

The first thing I see is a small roll of tan colored cloth that I recognize instantly. It’s an elastic bandage, ones that were used in District 3 whenever someone sprained or injured an ankle or wrist. I set it down carefully at my side before rummaging through the pocket again. I pull out a small black bundle that unfolded into a set of fingerless gloves. I slip them on and notice the rubber grip pads on the palms of my hands and the underside of the fingers.  
Next is a 2 liter water bottle, empty just like I predicted. I get up for a minute to fill the bottle with water before returning to my seat on the forest floor. The only other item in the big pocket is perhaps the most important, a resealable plastic bag of jerky and nuts. This is invaluable, because unless I can find any plants I learned about during training or got a lucky shot at an animal, I have no way of getting food.  
The second largest pocket is mainly filled with a small square of stiff blue fabric. I pull it out and recognize it as a District 3 invention. A small, super-absorbent towel that was quick to dry and easily portable. Simultaneously pride and pain slash through my heart. Pride for something of my District’s creation aiding my survival. Pain for the reminder of home. I quickly set the towel down. The last item in the middle pocket is a knife. The rubber handle fits into the palm of my hand, the metallic blade extending several inches from the hilt. It’s a survival knife, sturdy and built to last, though that meant heavy. It wasn’t built for fighting, though I hope it’ll never come to that. 

I rezip the middle one and go for the last pocket, the foremost and subsequently, the smallest. A cannon blast exploded violently throughout the sky and with a sharp gasp, I drop the backpack. I stare up at the sky in horror, as if that will somehow tell me who had just died. My heart is pounding as I slowly refocus, shoving my items back into the bag.  
I’m a bit shaky as I stand, the cannon a violent reminder of the games I’m apart of. I glance up briefly at the sky to notice the sun is continually dropping lower. The sun sets earlier then I would have liked this time of year. With no other plan I begin to walk upstream, against the current of the river. I stay in the trees, but never let the water leave my peripherals. It’s my guide. 

The death has left me paranoid, a reminder that people were out there right now, some probably with the goal of hunting other tributes down.I keep glancing tow my sides, flinching skittishly at every sound made by a bird, or an animal, or myself. Eventually the sun gets low enough that vision in eh shadowed forest begins to fade. I’m at a bend in the river, where a hill juts out over the river like a cliff. Stacked up against this cliff are a bunch of boulders, and I skip across the shallow river to get a closer look. 

Sure enough, there is a small crawl space formed where the rocks and cliff meet. With daylight giving way to dusk, I shove my backpack into the cramped space, then scooch my body in after it. It’s a good choice for shelter, camouflage with the surroundings and completely covered, but long enough for me to stretch out my body fully, and there’s an alcover by my left arm that the backpack fits nicely into. I tug up my hood as I curl up, staring dully into the darkness. Exhaustion from travel and adrenalin leaves my body begging for sleep, but fear keeps me painfully conscious. I lay there, unable to sleep until the sun fully goes down, and music fills the air. 

I crawl out of my rocky shelter as the Panem Anthem plays throughout the entire arena, a spot in the sky lighting up blue with the Capitol Crest. It’s something that happens every night in the games. The faces of those who died during the day are shown as a collection once the sun goes down. Each person whose death a cannon shot represented. 

The crest fades, replaces by the glowing crest of District 5 and a face I’d been trying to forget. Twelve year-old Bryce, smiling slightly in the same picture used for the release of training scores. If he’s first, that means all of the tributes from Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4 are alive. The deaths are always shown in district order. That means Satt is still alive. 

Bryce’s picture slowly fades to be replaced by a pale faced man with black hair and green eyes framed by thick rimmed glasses. David, I remember his name being, from District 8. A split second his district partner appears, Anthony, the larger man with a rumbling laugh and a terrifying amount of strength from the glimpses I’d caught during training.  
District 8 fades into District 9, and the face of the raven haired, short hispanic appears. I remember him once making a scarily high pitched voice during a training lunch. His district partner follows him, another similar looking hispanic named Arlen.  
Then is District 10, the man named Sark that I’d known little about. I’d more been in fear of his district partner, Adam. However the picture fades to District 11, so Adam is still alive. Both tributes of District 11 shine in the sky, tall and funny Chilled and quieter Ze. 

The last notes of the anthem ring out and the sky goes dead once more. After a few seconds, the sound of the forest raise up once more, the now familiar buzz of insect and wind. I crawl back into my hole, heart heavy. Eight people dead in the first day. Only sixteen people left in the games, myself included. The thought is terrifying and I'm torn between mourning the deaths of innocent people and fearing for my own life. I lay motionless in the dark until unconsciousness finally pulls me down, a sweet relief form my brain that refuses to cease.


End file.
